


Brotherhood is Not by the Blood

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abusive Relationships, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Corpse Desecration, Hurt, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Violence, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Bashir and Elim Garak are captured by a rogue Maquis ship and subjected to torture.   Healing is difficult despite all of Bashir's best efforts, or maybe even because of them; the ordeal they shared does not bring the closeness Bashir expected, and events quickly move beyond his control.</p><p>This story is set shortly after "The Maquis,"  Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, 1994.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not the lighter G/B fare that I usually prefer to write, and to read. The idea for the story, instead, came to me on a hiking trip to Boston, in which I walked many, many miles contemplating how Garak and Bashir would react to a traumatic, humiliating event occurring near the start of their relationship. This is my interpretation of one possible way they would handle it - or not handle it. I hoped to show that hurt is not always so easy to overcome with comfort, especially when that hurt affects an alien mind and a human who isn't quite the expert on dealing with suffering that he thinks he is.
> 
> Two other brief notes: in this, as in all my stories, Dukat is somewhat of a "good guy," or at least not a "bad guy" - I refuse to accept what the DS9 powers-that-be did to him in the end. Second, I've spent many hours touring and wandering cemeteries and find them places of peace and spirituality. Incidents in this story aren't meant to offend those who do too, but again are simply my interpretation of a possible dramatic response to trauma. Mount Auburn, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, my inspiration here, is by contrast a gorgeous, peaceful place, almost park-like.

"The brotherhood is not by the blood certainly:  
But neither are men brothers by speech - by saying so:  
Men are brothers by life lived and are hurt for it:

Hunger and hurt are the great begetters of brotherhood:  
Humiliation has gotten much love:  
Danger I say is the nobler father and mother:

Those are as brothers whose bodies have shared fear  
Or shared harm or shared hurt or indignity.  
Why are the old soldiers brothers and nearest?"

Archibald MacLeish, "Speech to Those Who Say Comrade," 1936

\-----

"Garak, please! Garak, for God's sake!"

Julian Bashir was soaked with perspiration, naked, gasping for breath, his face pressed firmly into the pillow as Elim Garak rode him furiously, intensely, toward another climax. Bashir's arms were tied tightly above his head; he struggled to move his face to the side, struggled to find some path for air to reach his lungs, but Garak's heavy weight was inexorably pushing him down, further and further, into unconsciousness. 'Oh God, help me, he's going to kill me this time,' he silently pleaded. Garak had hooked one arm around his neck and was practically choking him as he pulled upward, even while his free arm pushed his head into the smothering pillow. Bashir felt the rising panic, the terror of suffocation, and then - nothing.

He must have blacked out, he decided, as he awoke, soaking wet and panting, still lying across the bed on his stomach, with Garak, passive now, on top of him. He arched his back slightly in an attempt to push Garak off, but found he was too weak to do more than shift the Cardassian very slightly to the side. "You son of a bitch - how dare you do that to me - you could have killed me." Garak gazed at him, preoccupied, but said nothing. The friction of his leathery skin and the slightly ridged scales on his chest had scraped the welts on Bashir's back. The sheet was stained with bright red human blood as well as darker maroon Cardassian blood; several of Garak's own scars had opened during his initial struggle to subdue Bashir. The two lay breathing hard, Garak still draped over Bashir's back, bodies stinging from the fresh wounds, the wet sheets growing clammy beneath them. 

'What the hell do I do now?' Bashir thought, in a haze of confusion and pain. 'How much more am I supposed to take from him?' He had never imagined anything like this, never imagined that he would grow to dread being alone with his friend, his lover - their times together had previously been the brightest spot in Bashir's existence. But a malevolent force had intruded, had upset their equilibrium, had put up a barrier between them that no amount of talking and intimacy could tear down - a group of terrorists little older than teenagers, fighting for the Maquis.

\-----

"Yes - this must be his Starfleet lover. Disgusting - rotten disgusting Cardie pig. I wonder how often they fuck? I wonder who gets to be on top?" Laughter. "No, it's definitely not Starfleet - he's lucky if the Cardie lets him jerk himself off once in a while. Hey, Cardie - want me to jerk you off?" The hands reached out for Garak; he shifted backward in an attempt to avoid them, but a kick to his back flung him forward and into the waiting grasp of his tormentor. "Oh shit, this is unbelievable," - someone was pulling hard at his body, digging in for him, and trying to close his hands around the shaft - "this must tear his pretty boyfriend wide open." Bashir closed his eyes; he could hear Garak engage in a futile struggle against two, three, four persecutors, a struggle that would gain him nothing except a useless chance to salvage his dignity in front of his human companion. Damned Cardassian pride - Garak should know better than that, after all he'd been through during his lifetime. If he'd stop resisting them, stop letting them see his anger and his humiliation, the fun would probably stop for them too. They were violent and erratic but still just bullies, still little more than boys, but then again, when had Garak ever run into "bullies" this young but this threatening and heavily armed? If it weren't all so painful and so tragically serious, the situation itself would seem unreal, a bad dream, a flashback of some kind... Bashir tried to look unintimidated and unbowed but felt a tear trickle slowly down his cheek. Damn.

\-----

Garak turned his face toward Bashir and managed a weak smile. How long had they been lying there? An hour? Two? "I'm... I'm sorry," he whispered. "Julian..."

"You're ALWAYS sorry," Bashir rasped. "You were sorry last week, and sorry last night, and each time, you seem to get more and more out of control and - and I get more and more sick of all of this." He felt remorse at Garak's stricken look, and his expression softened slightly. "Listen I know we have a lot of things to work through. Let's try a little harder to work through them together, all right?" "Garak nodded, closing his eyes. "But we can't do that if we keep avoiding everyone on this station, and refusing therapy, and... we can't do that if I have to be so afraid of what you're going to do every time we're alone." Garak leaned over him and began to unbuckle the straps binding his arms; Bashir stretched his arms out straight, flexing them, and propped himself up on one elbow. "All right, then..." He tried to continue, but could think of nothing further to say. "All right. Shower?" Garak nodded once more. They climbed off the bed and staggered toward the bathroom, sticky blood and semen trickling down their legs. Bashir set the shower's temperature control at a level he knew would be a little too hot for him, a little too cool for Garak - this was one of the increasingly frequent times, he reflected, when human and Cardassian could not find a satisfactory middle ground on which to meet. He gently pulled Garak into the cubicle with him - the water stung his back like needles, like tiny razor blades, and Bashir involuntarily gasped in pain. Garak winced as the spray hit him too, but made no sound.

Gritting his teeth, Bashir let the water flow over his neck and down his arms; the tight straps had inflicted their usual dull red bands around his wrists, which also burned when the water touched them. He idly wondered how long it would be before the nurses in the infirmary realized the marks were new, not some hideous, leftover remnant of his imprisonment. Damn the Cardassian, anyway - he and Garak had always found bondage play exciting, a little daring, enjoyable to plan during a tedious day at work; never, though, had it become the absolute necessity for Garak that it was now. And, Bashir thought ruefully, never had Garak been so adamant about always being in control, being the aggressor. It was exciting and strangely relaxing at first to let Garak take the lead; it was flattering to be so determinedly sought after and seduced. But this 'seduction' had begun to imply irrational insults, force, straps and beatings... Bashir was experiencing more than the usual feelings of foreboding. Garak had refused psychological counseling after their return, had said he was fully trained in overcoming the effects of torture, both physical and mental, and that those mere children who had antagonized them were nothing compared to the Obsidian Order operatives who had supervised his education and had inflicted plenty of torture of their own. All he was concerned about, he had said, was Bashir's well-being, Bashir's healing after the ordeal Garak had involuntarily put him through by simply being captured, as a Cardassian, with him. So Bashir suppressed his fear now and concentrated instead on gently massaging the soap over Garak's recently-scarred back. The white suds shone against his wet silvery-gray skin; "how beautiful he is; how lucky I am to have someone like him. We'll work through this, we're both intelligent adults, we CAN do this." A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that his ordeals were becoming more arduous, not less, but he ignored it.

\-----

"Why don't you kiss your Cardie lover for us?" He was roughly pushed toward Garak, his hands bound behind him, the damp blindfold letting in only a faint glimmer of light. He knew Garak was near, though; years of working with him, caring for him, touching him, had made him quite familiar with that distinctly alien, Cardassian scent. All right, he'd show those bastards, he wouldn't be intimidated - "No, not there!" - he had begun to tip his face up to where he supposed Garak's face would be - "THERE!" Hands shoved him onto his knees and his face was pushed into Garak's crotch. Bashir held his face against the limp, partially emerged organ, smelled the blood that must have dribbled down from Garak's chest, and felt the cool scales that exhibited not the slightest hint of arousal, but only - fear. Garak, afraid? Bashir didn't know what it took to really frighten Garak - was it his fear of helplessness, of death? Not likely, for one who prided himself on his bravery and his mental fortitude. Dukat hadn't been afraid during his bout with the Maquis, but Dukat had been a political pawn, his imprisonment almost a joke, his captors behaving like children who had managed to lock the teacher in the closet. This was different - now he and Garak were supposed to be "atoning" for the Cardassian-led decimation of a Maquis colony, and for the oppression of all Maquis colonies for good measure, and the only purpose to their torture was, eventually, death. So was Garak, instead, afraid for HIM? For what he, Bashir, was being forced to go through because of him, and would now feel toward him because of that? He offered Garak a small, secret kiss before he was again dragged away.

\-----

He took two large, white bath towels and wrapped one around Garak's body, the other one around himself. Within seconds, faint patterns of blood had appeared on each towel. Damn - he hoped he hadn't left the dermal regenerator in the infirmary again. With his luck, he probably had. Oh well - he could at last find the antiseptic cream and apply some of that - it would sting like crazy, though, the last thing either of them needed. He scooped out a small portion of the white, shiny ointment, decided he had better test it on himself first, and slathered it onto his shoulder. It burned, but then radiated a slight cooling sensation into the skin, one that he was certain would not cause Garak too much discomfort. Instructing him to lie down on the bed, he opened the towel, letting it fall to either side of the powerful Cardassian back. The muscles were tense; he sensed Garak's unwillingness to submit himself even to these ministrations. He tried to soothe him - "Relax - this won't hurt - too much. It'll help you heal. When I'm finished, you can do the same thing for me." He had been about to say "to me," then caught himself. This was not a punishment. But in Garak's current hyper-sensitive mental state, everything seemed to be a challenge of some kind, even the touch of his doctor. He'd have to be careful about what he said, how he behaved. 'For whom, though? For me? Or for the rest of them - so that they don't suspect and don't interfere?'

It was common knowledge, he supposed, that he and Garak were - a little more than friends now. They had been discreet, had tried not to let anything give them away, had even maintained the fiction of living in separate quarters. But messages were starting to be left for Bashir on Garak's comm system, first by Jadzia Dax, then by other members of the senior staff, finally even by his staff in the infirmary. How had word gotten around? He didn't know, nor did he really care, until now. Now he wished for total privacy, for respite. Garak was having a difficult time adjusting to life on the station again; it was almost as if he were back on Terok Nor in the last days of the Occupation, fearful of being harassed and suspicious of every overture. Bashir wanted the freedom to help him without fending off dozens of well-meaning, concerned glances and comments every time his name came up. 'Or am I embarrassed at what I'm letting him do to me? Is that it?' It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his fatigue, his fresh injuries, his inability to sit still for any length of time without fidgeting in pain. He had the irrational fear that Kira and Dax were writing reports about him to Captain Sisko, recommending that the two be separated and that Garak be sent away from Deep Space Nine to continue his recovery alone. And Dukat - Dukat had been instrumental in his rescue, but during their last meeting he had stared at Bashir with an expression akin to disgust, not pity. 'You're being paranoid, Julian,' - or was he? Cardassians had an extremely keen sense of smell; was it possible that Dukat had deduced the entire story, the blood, Garak's scent, everything? Damn him - damn Garak too.

His turn now - he tried not to flinch, tried to hold himself still as Garak slid off the bed and guided him down onto it. The towel opened and trailed halfway to the floor. Bashir closed his eyes and prayed that Garak wouldn't knead him too mercilessly as he applied the ointment. His touch was surprisingly gentle this time, however, and Bashir kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to relax slightly. The quiet hiss of the air circulation system was soothing and even comforting, and within minutes he was asleep, naked, across Garak's bed, the pungent scent of the antibiotic perfuming the air.

He awoke with a start. "Damn!" It was 0930 - his shift usually began at 0800. He grabbed his wrinkled uniform off of the floor, stepped into it, and began madly pulling it up his legs and torso. Garak, blinking sleep out of his eyes, raised himself on one elbow to look at him. "Doctor, why do you bother?"

"Because I have to, that's why. Because I want to prove I can still do my job."

"I can't do MY job, not yet anyway, and you don't see me losing any sleep over it. Come here." Bashir had been only half-listening to Garak's usual reprimands; the sudden command, though, was unexpected and he raised his eyes, then felt a wave of compassion as he glimpsed Garak's hands, still trembling all these days later from the aftereffects of the torture.

"No, I told you, I can't," he said gently. "I'm already over an hour late," but he was hesitant, unsure. What used to cause Garak pleasantly mild annoyance was now apt to send him into a rage. He seemed to acquiesce this time, however, rearranged the blankets, and lay regarding Bashir through half-closed eyes. The sight was unnerving.

"I'll be back... I'll try to come back for lunch." Bashir fumbled nervously with the neck of his uniform, then sidled out the door. He jogged toward the infirmary, absently rubbing his injured shoulder, yet another souvenir from the previous night. How many more times was he going to be beaten, scraped, bitten, and God knew what else, all in the name of helping Garak regain his masculine pride or Cardassian sense of control, or helping him expel whatever demons seemed to be plaguing him? Speculation was pointless, he knew - he could no more control Garak than he could the Maquis.

\-----

"You were right! God DAMN it, you were right! I don't believe it! Cardie life signs! Oh shit, you were right!" Bashir and Garak stood side by side in the cramped runabout, their backs to the control panels, facing their two uninvited and overwrought visitors.

"We really don't have time for this," Bashir sneered in his best, haughtiest Starfleet officer persona. "We're on our way back to Deep Space Nine - if we don't return within one hour, they're going to come out looking for us. You don't want them finding you or your little - Maquis - ship, do you?"

"How do you know we're Maquis?" the second one asked, mocking him. "How do you know we're not just two happy Federation citizens, out playing in our 'Maquis' ship, pretending we're hunting Cardies?" He took a menacing step toward Garak, who in turn stepped backward even though his gaze never wavered. "Fun game - want to join us? You can be our Cardie prisoner. I heard the Feds are keeping a Cardie spy around - I bet that's you." Garak opened his mouth as if about to say something but Bashir cut him off.

"This is ridiculous - get off our ship, and get off it immediately, or I'll have no choice but to take you into custody." The two looked no older than eighteen; surely, though armed, they'd be susceptible to a well-delivered, authoritative threat.

"Custody?" the second one laughed, and his eyes took on a disturbingly joyous gleam. "You hear that - fucking Starfleet wants to take us into 'custody.' Go ahead - and while you're at it, take your Cardie friend into custody too. Four of them just killed his sister -"he gestured at his companion, "and, oh yes, five other innocent people. No idea how they knew we were there - this one probably told them." He leered at Garak. "Yep, you'd better fucking take every one of us into custody." Bashir swallowed hard as the first man moved in closer, from the side, his pale eyes fixed on Garak.

"That's really not something we can settle here," Bashir managed to proclaim, with far more confidence than he felt. "We'll be glad to take this news back to Starfleet -"

"Take THIS news back to fucking Starfleet - tell them that for every colonist murdered today by the fucking Cardassians, ten Cardies will die. Ten, beginning with this one." He rammed the phaser rifle into Garak's chest. "EVENTUALLY, anyway - we'll give him a chance to think about it first, just like they all do to us." Bashir lunged forward but was backhanded across the face. "Now move ... MOVE!"

\-----


	2. Chapter 2

The door had barely hissed closed before Garak was upon him, slamming him into the wall, his hand firmly grasping Bashir under the chin. "I see you found time for me after all, doctor."

"Garak - Elim - this is ridiculous - I couldn't get away until now - you must realize that. I came here the second I was free." The blue eyes danced with a kind of alien fire; Bashir felt his throat constrict. He called up an air of false bravado and smiled. "I've been - looking forward to this - all morning."

"As you humans would say - the hell you have. You're only here because you're afraid of what I'd do to you later if you weren't." Garak pressed himself up against Bashir, who had a sudden tantalizing urge to bring a knee up hard into his groin - no, that wouldn't work well against a Cardassian, it would only enrage him, but not immobilize him -

"Garak - Garak - I came here willingly. Do you understand? I WANT to be here. I WANT to be with you. Please... let me go."

"Let you go?" he sneered. "I thought you wanted me. Well, I want you too, Julian - I want you very much indeed." He brought his lips to Bashir's neck and began kissing and nuzzling him, gently at first and then with increasing force, opening his mouth wide and biting hard on the tender human skin. Bashir stifled a gasp as he felt the skin break under Garak's sharp teeth - yet another injury to try to hide later - how many all together? He had lost track -

"Ah - Garak... please... please..." His uniform was ripped open and pulled down to his waist, his shirt yanked up over his arms and his head; Garak was now sinking his teeth into the soft brown shoulder, sucking it and grazing his tongue over the marks he had bitten. Bashir found the touch only faintly arousing as he struggled to wriggle out from under the Cardassian, who growled with impatience, reached back, and slapped him hard across the mouth once, then again. Momentarily stunned, he allowed himself to be slung over Garak's shoulder and dumped unceremoniously onto the mattress, on his stomach; his uniform and underwear were pulled down to his knees and he lay draped over the edge of the bed, his heart pounding. No matter how many times Garak took him this way, no frisson of anticipation any more, no preparation beyond the Cardassian body's own natural lubricant, he was never ready for it - he dreaded the pain and the uncaring manner in which Garak had begun to inflict it. 

Garak had evidently partially stripped, because a moment later Bashir felt his weight behind him, resting against his buttocks and between his legs. He gasped - oh God he was enormous, he seemed to fill up the entire space between his legs. The thought had never seemed so frightening in the past; Bashir had been proud of his lover's powerful body and relished the strength and the passion Garak could display so easily. But now, Bashir pressed his upper body into the mattress in a feeble attempt to somehow get away from him. How did he ever manage to fit inside, even when they were both willing and eager for this? How COULD he fit? - a rush of panic at the thought. It was like the Maquis ship all over again - he willed himself to stay calm but his heart pounded as Garak suddenly rammed into him, hard and demanding. Bashir held his breath, as he had grown accustomed to do, then released it slowly as he felt Garak slide all the way in again, more slowly this time, Bashir's muscles angrily clenching in protest, the already sore opening burning with new pain.

Not for the first time, he wondered how much of the moisture he felt was Garak's lubrication and how much was his own blood. Garak's chest was pressed against his back, the bony ridges above the breasts scraping against partially-healed welts as he slid against him, up and down, in an insistent rhythm. Bashir's anger at the arrogant, abusive Cardassian doing this to him warred with memories of the times he had wanted this, had thought he would die from the sheer pleasure of Garak desiring him, his beautiful, intricately scaled body pressed against his, hissing orders at him in Kardasi that neither Bashir nor even Garak himself took seriously. But now - he found it difficult to display any emotion or passion at all; what he wanted most was to rest, to let his wounds heal, to drift off to sleep in the arms of someone caring and compassionate who could help him forget... As much as he wanted to help Garak forget... But not this, not now.

Garak evidently sensed his mood, because his hand suddenly slithered down under Bashir's body and felt his lack of arousal. "You don't like this, Julian?" he snarled against the back of Bashir's neck, causing the hairs to stand on end.

"No, I don't," panting, through clenched teeth, "rape - doesn't excite me - not by the Maquis - not - by you -" He felt Garak withdraw suddenly, was flipped over onto his back, but he never felt the blow to his jaw, never even sensed it coming.

He also never sensed Garak collapsing onto the floor of the bathroom, sobs wracking his body, retching and coughing before he quickly dressed and ran out the door.

\-----

Bashir's dive for the shuttle's comm system was futile, as he had known it would be. He awoke from the phaser stun, groggy, lying on the floor, staring at the boots of one of the Maquis. "You're not taking him," he managed to choke. "I'm not leaving without him."

"You're too late, Starfleet - he's already gone. He's on our ship." The boy knelt down and grasped Bashir's hair, pulling his head up to face him. "You go back to your Federation base and tell them our fight for freedom has begun. Tell them to warn the fucking Cardassians - tell them we're ready to retaliate, and believe me, we will, starting with your friend." Bashir was still too disoriented to organize his thoughts coherently, to carefully consider an effective choice of words - "NO!" he screamed. "NO! God damn you, you're all - you're -"

The boy laughed and flung him away. "Shut up, Starfleet - he's gone. What was he, anyway, your lover? Your fucking Cardie lover?" Bashir kept sobbing, the wails alternating with gasps as he struggled for air. The boy regarded him dispassionately, almost amusedly. "So he WAS your Cardie lover. Pervert. I ought to take you with us - I ought to let you see what we do to Cardassians - hell, I ought to let him see what we do to YOU." Bashir was moaning, almost inaudibly now, "God damn you... God damn you..."

"SHUT UP!" The kick to the side of his head was accompanied by a flash of light, followed immediately by inky blackness.

\-----

Bashir awoke, opened his eyes, and immediately squeezed them shut again - the light bore into him and made his head throb. His lower lip seemed to be three times its normal size - he ran his tongue over it and tasted blood. The room was peaceful and quiet; as his awareness returned, Bashir listened for the sounds of Garak's breathing or footsteps, but heard nothing. The bastard must have run off as soon as he realized he had knocked his lover unconscious... what a romantic lunch date. Bashir rolled onto his stomach and then gingerly lowered himself to the floor, where he lay curled up next to the bed. Tears burned behind his closed eyelids, and he angrily reached out and brushed them away. "Crying now, Julian? Wonderful - crying like a baby over a little pain - if Garak saw you now he'd kick your butt." No doubt about that. He didn't allow himself the luxury of self-pity, or of wondering why all his suffering for Garak, all his devotion and all his attempts to ease his pain and rescue him from his tormentors, received no reward but this. He reached one hand up to the mattress and slowly hoisted himself to a standing position; a wave of dizziness overtook him and he had to lean over the bed, resting both hands on the mattress, blood trickling down onto the sheet. Oh God - how long had he been there? What were they thinking, back at the infirmary? He had told them he was taking forty-five minutes. He smiled painfully with his cracked lip - forty-five minutes to make love to a Cardassian... that was like trying to run a marathon in an hour or so. He closed his eyes against the pain, then headed determinedly over to the bathroom and switched on the light.

The sight that greeted him in the mirror almost made him want to close his eyes again. His mouth, quite swollen, was caked with dried blood, which had also dribbled down and stuck to his neck and chest. An enormous bruise tinted every color of the rainbow dominated the lower right side of his face, causing his cheek and even his eye to swell. He would present a very impressive appearance as Chief Medical Officer - with a sigh, he splashed cold water onto his face and neck, grabbed a towel and staggered over to the comm unit.

"Infirmary."

"Ah - this is - this is - Bashir." He had trouble forming the "b" properly with his swollen mouth.

"Doctor - are you all right?"

"Yes - I - fell asleep. I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be in for a while."

"Of course, doctor."

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know sooner. Bashir out." There - they had promised him some leeway after his ordeal - he was now going to have to take them up on it. Damn the Cardassian who had done this to him - he had no way of repairing the bruise without going to the infirmary, and he certainly couldn't go there now and let them see him - for that matter, he couldn't even go back to his own quarters; he'd definitely run into someone in the corridor. But the thought of continuing to stay in Garak's quarters was rather - unappealing, to say the least. Where was he now, anyway? Where would he go? A thought occurred to Bashir, and he signaled his own room - no answer. He COULD be there anyway, of course, ignoring the signal - Garak knew his personal codes as surely as Bashir knew Garak's. But another idea came to him -

"Computer, location of Elim Garak."

"Elim Garak is on the Promenade, section 277." His shop - the bastard was spending the afternoon in his shop, probably bantering with the customers and having a grand old time holding court as DS9's mysterious tailor-spy. Bashir angrily signaled him, visual mode this time.

Garak flinched as Bashir's swollen face and purple jaw came into view; he began to blink rapidly and nervously, but his infuriatingly calm voice belied his obvious unease - "Doctor - Julian, please, allow me to -"

"No, Garak, I won't allow you to do anything, not apologize, not beg my forgiveness, not hit me again, not anything." He suddenly realized he was still naked, and hoped Garak was getting a full view of the blood that he hadn't yet been fully able to remove. "I want you to stay away from me from now on." He struggled to enunciate carefully and with some dignity, but his bruised lip made that difficult. "Do you understand me? I don't want you anywhere near me. I'm sorry you're still not able to deal with your problems, but it's become obvious to me that I can't help you. So leave me alone - leave me ALONE." Garak stared at him, not moving, not speaking. Bashir realized he had forgotten to ask if anyone was in the shop; at least the visual comm system was in the office, not right out near the counter. He watched as Garak fumbled nervously with a piece of fabric; startled, he again realized just how badly Garak was shaking - no wonder he wasn't able to do much work yet. Bashir felt his resolve weaken. But - no, that was now Garak's problem and Garak's alone - he obviously had no other physical ailments; certainly his strength had returned. "And since you've made it impossible for me to move from here, do NOT come back until I leave."

"But - doctor -"

"Do NOT come back, Garak, or I'll have you thrown into a Bajoran prison. Think about it -" He cut the connection, not knowing if he had finally managed to frighten Garak, infuriate him, or only amuse him. But what else was there to do? Involving station security would only expose Garak to shame and humiliation, or worse; a Cardassian emotionally out of control on a Bajoran station would very soon find himself in the prison Bashir had threatened. Confiding in Dax or Sisko would mean exposing a relationship not quite ready to be revealed, and certainly not in the current circumstances. And what would they tell him to do, anyway? What was the solution? No, he wanted Garak near him, on the station, not all alone somewhere contemplating suicide or, much worse, again falling under the scrutiny of people eager to do him harm. He could be helped; the key was there. Bashir only hoped he had the ability to find it.

\-----

He was still burning with thirst when his face was doused with water and the bucket thrown at him for good measure - how he would have gladly been allowed to lick every precious drop off the floor, but he knew he couldn't even think of water - once he realized Garak had not been offered any, he could never accept it again. "It doesn't matter if you refuse it or not, Starfleet - your Cardie friend still isn't getting any." The boy laughed at his ribald comment. "Not any more, anyway - I'm sure he was getting plenty when you let him fuck you, a pretty boy like you." Bashir bit back the remark he was about to spit out; the crude sexual obsession of their captors was beyond belief. His mind drifted off into a brief fantasy involving himself, his laser scalpel, and this mob of Maquis terrorists, immobilized; he'd make sure they'd never 'get any' for the rest of their miserable lives. He gritted his teeth as a hand came to rest on his lower back - no, don't try to wriggle away, that's what they want - still, when two rough fingers began to penetrate him, he hoarsely cried out in protest. More laughter - "you don't like that? What's the matter - not big enough? Well then, maybe you'll like THIS." Bashir unsuccessfully stifled a scream of agony as a hard metal object, he didn't know what, was shoved into him. "Your boyfriend didn't scream, pretty boy - fucking Cardie probably loved it. Go on - keep screaming."

\-----

He awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, then lay with his eyes closed willing his breathing to slow down. All was quiet and still; he was alone - Garak had evidently been unable or simply unwilling to bypass the higher-level security codes Bashir had used to lock the door. Good. He was probably asleep as well, that minute, in Bashir's quarters - he'd have to contact him in the morning and attempt to re-start the recovery process. Yet in the cold light of the station's "dawn," with the nightmare still vivid in his mind, Bashir couldn't help feeling not relief but regret over the loss of his friend. The loss was almost as real as if the Maquis had killed him - he was gone, disappeared into some private Cardassian hell where every human was the enemy, to be conquered in the same way the Maquis had conquered him. It was a wonder he wasn't attacking other humans on the station. So far, anyway, he had managed keep both his sexual and his violent impulses under some sort of control - how much longer would he be able to? Why couldn't Garak himself understand what he was doing; he had always been so self-aware, extremely well versed (or so he always told Bashir, anyway) in not only the art of intelligence but in seeing through the lies and the hidden motivatons of others - did he really feel that somehow reversing the torture roles would heal him, give him back his Cardassian pride? Even now, he should have difficulty accepting something that obvious as truth - even he should know the difference between his Starfleet lover and his torturers. No, it was too obvious, too easy of an answer. Something else must be responsible for all this... Bashir sighed and found himself unable to get back to sleep. At 0530, he crept out of bed, folded a towel and held it to his face, and limped to his own quarters. He was spotted only once, by a security guard who regarded him, and the towel, with a curious glance, but did not speak to him. 

The door slid open quietly, very quietly. In the darkness illumined only by the stars outside the window, Bashir discerned Garak's familiar form, fully dressed, curled up on the bed, the blanket around his waist. He felt an unbearable wave of tenderness wash over him as he crept to the bed, raised one end of the blanket, and slipped underneath. Garak stirred but did not awaken, so Bashir leaned closer and took him into his arms, then began planting soft kisses on his shoulders and back. The rough fabric of the tunic scraped his injured lip, but he paid no attention; he was completely absorbed in his task and barely noticed that Garak had placed one hand on the back of his neck and was gently massaging him.

"Julian - how can you do this?"

"Do what?" he mumbled lazily.

"This - after what I did to you."

"I told you, my love." He finally raised his head, resting his chin on Garak's chest. "I want to work through our - problems - together. I'll admit that you're making it almost impossible," he paused, "but I'm still willing to try. I love you, Elim." In answer, Garak traced one finger along the swollen lip, then let it rest there as he lightly brushed his thumb along Bashir's cheek.

"I don't understand... Julian. I still don't see how you can do this."

"Garak - if I hadn't removed the implant - if I hadn't asked you to accompany me in that runabout - none of this would have -"

"Don't be ridiculous, doctor." Garak sat up abruptly. "If you had left the implant in my brain, I would have died. And if those Maquis hadn't found me during that trip, they would have found me some other way - I was perfectly accessible to anyone on the station, and I'm sure it was their eventual destination. No, you're simply trying again to come up with all the right things to say to appease me. I do not need to be appeased."

"You need something, Garak - something that I don't know if I can give any more. You're not behaving normally - surely you can see that. You say you've come to terms with this, that you've been able to conquer it -"

"I've conquered far worse, my dear Julian - I've had to come to terms with cruelties you can't even begin to imagine. You don't need to offer yourself up to me as some sort of martyr to the cause of easing my pain. I don't want your martyrdom." Bashir noted with slight alarm that confusion was rapidly giving way to anger, a deadly combination for Garak, and for him. Was he going to be standing in again for the Maquis, right here, in his own bed - no. He quickly moved to defuse the situation and distract him.

"I like it when you decide to call me Julian instead of 'doctor'," he said, sliding up until he lay next to Garak, face to face.

Garak relented. "Oh, but I like calling you 'doctor'."

"I know - but what if I preferred to call you Gul? Wouldn't you get tired of that?" he smiled.

"Ah, but I'm not a gul any more."

Oh no, he had strayed again into sensitive territory - "You will be again, as soon as your government comes to its senses. And besides, I don't really care WHAT you call me right now." He brought his lips close to Garak's and chastely kissed him; his swollen mouth was slightly numb from the painkiller he had taken before bed, imparting an odd, tingling sensation to the kiss. Garak, of course, was unaware of it; he parted his lips slightly against Bashir's and grazed his tongue along the cut on his mouth. "I'm sorry, d- Julian, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmured, over and over, the sound muffled by Bashir's open mouth.

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Bashir began to experience more affection than fear; he felt desire, unmistakeable and not overshadowed by memory or the dread of pain. 'This isn't right - I told him never to touch me again, and now I'm begging for him not to stop.' He continued, however, to let Garak kiss him, more and more deeply, ignoring the pain in his mouth and jaw. 'I'm all he has - he needs me. He needs to get past all this. I can't push him away - how would that be helping him?' Part of his mind told him to back away, to leave the room, to get to safety and finally confess to someone his growing inability to handle the situation - but another part was being swallowed up by the affection and the comfort he was finally receiving... surely there could be no harm in that... it wasn't as if he was letting himself be beaten again... there was no pleasure in the universe like that of surrendering to a Cardassian lover... to his beloved... to Garak.

\-----


	3. Chapter 3

"Garak! Can you hear me?" he whispered into the blackness. Please, he thought, please be able to hear me - this may be the last time I can ever talk to you -

"Julian." He sounded groggy but was at least conscious.

Bashir strained against the cuffs chaining his arms overhead, trying to move fractionally closer to Garak, as far as he was able to reach. "I have something important to tell you;" it was difficult, forcing the words hoarsely out of his cracked throat, trying to be audible even while he could manage no more than a whisper. "I love you, Garak. I love you - I always have - I always will." He swallowed in a futile attempt to get more moisture into his throat. "Do you know when I first knew I loved you, Elim? It was in the replimat -" he smiled at the memory despite himself, "the first time we met, when you were trying your spy routine out on me." He paused for breath, then whispered, "Did you ever get the information you wanted?"

"Oh, Julian - I never wanted any information from you. I only wanted you."

"What?"

"Didn't you know that? Right away?"

No, he hadn't known that. He smiled at his own naivete, all these years later, chained and helpless on a Maquis ship. "Oh - well, then," he grinned in the dark, "I hope you got whatever else you wanted from me."

"More than I had ever deserved or dared to hope for, Julian, my love." Bashir attempted to respond but instead began to cough, trying again to moisten his dry throat before he could answer. The hopelessness of their predicament began to overwhelm him, and tears tried to form at the corners of his eyes. He worried more for Garak than for himself; he was certain that the Cardassian's superior physical stamina would enable him to hold out for rescue, while he himself would be carried off the ship, a corpse -

"No , I'm not ready for this yet - I don't want to die - oh God, please, not yet..." He was dimly aware of Garak calling his name, trying to help him, but he had already surrendered to despair and was beyond his reach. 

\-----

"Julian." It was Dax, standing in the doorway of the infirmary, hesitantly looking in at him. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." He slowly walked over to her to greet her, trying not to let any pain show in his face. He had been back at work for three days and knew he couldn't risk missing any more time without prying questions being raised. If only he could lie down for a few minutes, though, undisturbed, and rest his sore muscles and back - after several days of reasonably gentle behavior, Garak had again reverted to the rougher sessions he so favored lately in the bedroom - what started out as a little light wordplay turned into a long session with a strap, practically a whipping. Why Garak would almost mimic some of the very torture he had both experienced and witnessed on the ship was beyond Bashir's ability to comprehend, but he didn't dare make a sound and risk anything worse. When they weren't in bed, Garak had taken to reading long volumes of violent or revenge-themed Klingon and Earth history and literature; Bashir groaned inwardly at the thought that he was probably seeking some sort of inspiration from those books, indulging in unhealthy fantasies that would never bring him the peace he really needed. On the other hand, they probably did bring him the sense of power he seemed to crave, the sense of being totally in control, the master - Bashir seldom fantasized about trying to master Garak, even in play - now, though, he decided that, just once, he'd like to have Garak squirming under him, and give him a taste of his own painful medicine. Garak would probably find it amusing for an hour, perhaps, maybe even for a night, but what about the next day? What about the times when he'd have no choice but to go back to work, his skin still stinging from some kind of lash, fresh bruises still tender? What then? In the midst of those resentful thoughts, though, Bashir felt an onrush of pity - Garak had undergone all that, and much more. Why did he suddenly feel the need to add to the Cardassian's misery? 'You're supposed to be helping him,' he berated himself, 'not imagining new ways to hurt him.' He stopped short of drawing the obvious parallel to Garak's own actions - he simply could not see that far.

"Julian - I have a friend, a Betazoid psychiatrist..." Bashir waited expectantly. "I just received several of his books -" she handed him a datapadd, " and I thought you might find them interesting or helpful too, maybe even interesting enough to want to meet him."

"Actually, I'm rather busy lately - I have a lot of things to do. What are the books about?"

"Marriage, mostly." At Bashir's dismissive glance, she quickly added, "well, relationships - major problems in relationships. How to deal with things like lack of communication, lack of trust, trauma, abuse..."

Bashir angrily dropped the padd down on the desk, then steadied himself before replying. "I don't do much counseling, Jadzia, but if I have the time, I'll look over these books from your - friend. Thank you for bringing them." He turned away from her and busied himself at the computer. She approached him.

"So, umm... you're feeling better?"

"Of course."

"What about Garak?"

"He's doing well - hasn't gone back to work yet, but he will soon. I've managed to undo most of the injuries the Maquis inflicted on him." He didn't like the quizzical look in her eyes, but knew he had to remain placid in front of her, in control. She paused a moment before speaking.

"You've managed? By yourself? You still don't feel that the two of you should be - talking to anyone? Have you rescheduled any of your appointments with the Starfleet counselor?"

He sighed and turned fully to face her. "If you don't believe I'm fit for duty, just say so. Captain Sisko obviously thinks otherwise. We were only held captive for six days - SIX DAYS. I think I can handle the damage caused by six days with some sadistic teenagers, without dragging the mental health resources of the entire Federation into it." His voice, he knew, was beginning to take on a hysterical edge, so he made a desperate effort to bring himself under control, and smiled. "I'm very happy you're so concerned about me. But I'm fine. WE'RE fine. I can't forget what happened, but I'm working on moving forward, not dwelling on the past. And," he quickly added, "I know Garak feels the same way. I have him to help me too - he's had many years of experience dealing with situations like this."

"Well, yes, but... Julian, I don't think that... well, I just don't think he's being an awfully great help to you after all. Hardly anyone ever sees you out in public, you spend all your time alone together, you seem to be hurting somehow..." Bashir shook his head and started to back away; Jadzia, resigned, gave up the attempt to reach him. "Well... I want you to know that I'm here if you need me, to talk, to listen, anything - all right? And that goes for Garak too."

Bashir nodded. "Thanks very much, but I think we'll be all right." Damn her and her unconvinced little half-smile, trying to pry information out of him that she had no right to know. As soon as she had gone, he grabbed the datapadd and flung it against the door, where it shattered with a tiny, satisfying shower of sparks. He almost wished he could have done the same thing to her.

Garak looked up as Bashir entered their quarters; he was lying on the bed, as usual, holding an old fashioned paper book in one hand, the other hand propped behind his head. Bashir was relieved to see that he looked almost pleasant and that the shaking in his hands was barely detectable any more.

"Dinner?" he asked him.

"Yes - but here, I assume," Garak replied.

"Of course. I'm not in the mood for any pitying stares tonight." Bashir sank slowly into a chair. "I'm not feeling all that well either - I'm still a little sore..." Garak raised his eyes at him, displeasure on his face.

"Another criticism, doctor? You seem to be more and more critical of me these days. Or is it that you've been talking to other people about us? Satisfying their curiosity? Telling what they did to us?" 

"Of course not. No one's going to hear me describe any of that. I would never do that to you. It's bad enough they already have some idea - I'm not giving them a full account."

"Aren't you, though?" Bashir emphatically shook his head. "But wouldn't you enjoy telling it, deep down? Wouldn't you enjoy gaining their sympathy for your suffering, since I certainly could do nothing to help you?"

Bashir rose slowly to his feet. Oh damn, he thought, here we go again, I messed up in some way and now it's all my fault. Can't he please just let me rest a while? "Garak..." he began.

"Come here." Bashir looked over at him tiredly. "I said come here." Garak was up in an instant, crossed the room, and roughly pulled Bashir by the arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket in his impatience. Anger warred with resignation as Bashir allowed himself to be dragged toward the bed.

\-----

He hardly recognized Garak any longer, hanging limp in the chains, suspended from the ceiling, that held them close together in the dim light. His face and arms were covered with reddish-black bruises; his back was cross-crossed with similar bruises, traveling all the way down the backs of his thighs. One eye was swollen shut, and blood had dried on his neck, chest and back, giving him a reddish-gray cast. Bashir's own injuries were as extensive but not as severe; for every blow he received, he calculated that Garak was given three or four. The door slid open, and he peered into the glare with trepidation, trying to see who had entered this time. Any entrance invariably meant that more torment was about to begin; the boys holding them captive became bored easily and looked for a little amusement, primarily sexual, to liven up the journey. To where, Bashir did not know, but he had become intimately acquainted on the way with the preferences of every one of their captors - one of them enjoyed whipping them both, but especially Garak, into a bloody mess but otherwise seldom touched them. Another one lowered their bodies, always still in chains, to the floor so he could more easily push into them; one of his companions had an extremely filthy mouth but was not as sexually or physically formidable as he liked to pretend... Bashir closed his eyes; the Maquis now entering the room was the one with a particular fascination with him. Garak had pleaded several times in the past to take Bashir's place, to sacrifice himself, but that had only made the boy laugh harder - and now Garak was too weak even to offer that.

"Hello again, pretty boy. Sleep well?" He moved over to Bashir and laced his fingers through his damp hair, then brought his lips close to Bashir's mouth. "You give me enough time, I may convince you yet to give up your Cardie lover - he's probably already dead anyway." Bashir knew he shouldn't take the bait, but he did, glancing fearfully over at Garak, whose chest was heaving with ragged breaths. "What if I just finish him off and get you out of here? You still want to stay with him?" Bashir tried to speak but found, to his horror, that no sound would come out any longer. He stared wide-eyed at his captor, who began to laugh, grabbed him behind the head and pulled him close, then thrust his tongue into Bashir's open mouth. "I bet HE never kissed you like that," he panted when he was finished. 'If you only knew, you fucking little monster,' Bashir thought, gagging. He felt the boy start to stroke him and pull at him but realized thankfully that he was no longer capable of giving any response. He hoped the same thing was true for Garak, in case he was the next target, but at that point it had almost ceased to matter.

\-----

He awoke at 0730 - by 0830, the itching of new welts and dried blood on his back and down his sides, was slowly beginning to drive him out of his mind. By 0930, he had fallen again into a light doze but as the skin tightened and felt a little better, the need to get to a bathroom was getting more urgent. He decided to call Security and end this helpless torment once and for all, to hell with the consequences; he thrashed and writhed around on the bed as much as he was able to but it was no use; the straps tightly binding both his wrists and his ankles to the frame of the bed made the resolution impossible to carry out. He tried shouting for help toward the comm system; that was likewise impossible, as the only sounds that could escape from behind the gag were muffled and distorted.

It was the gag in particular, in fact, that was causing Bashir the most humiliating discomfort - no matter how hard he struggled to dislodge it, rubbing the side of his head violently against the mattress, it was fastened much too firmly to be removed. The feeling was akin to being penetrated by Garak, in the mouth, continuously for hours; at least that was how it seemed to Bashir, a further measure of degradation inflicted on him by his Cardassian tormentor who had decided last night that he was going to punish him for speaking. By 1030, he began to wonder if Garak ever planned to return. He seemed to be making a habit of escaping after any particularly grueling or abusive session in bed with his lover. And every time he escapes, Bashir reflected ruefully, I rage and fume, I rejoice in my freedom, and then I call him back or go running after him myself. Well, this time he's not even going to give me the ability to do that; I'll be forced to stay right here while he controls the entire situation from start to finish. If he expects me again to forgive him, to act as if nothing is wrong - The door slid open and Bashir, startled, felt his heart begin to pound furiously. 'Oh please, not Garak... Oh please, not anybody BUT Garak, finding me like this...'

It was Garak. He strode into Bashir's line of sight, leaned over him, then dropped down next to the bed to eye level. Bashir kept his expression carefully neutral; any obvious rage might provoke the Cardassian and would possibly keep him restrained indefinitely. Garak reached one hand out and began caressing the back of Bashir's head and neck; in response, Bashir swiveled around and angrily faced the opposite direction, his skin prickling with suppressed emotion. God, make him stop, he thought, or I'll kill him myself, I'll kill the goddamned Cardie son of a bitch - He felt the gag at last being loosened and drawn away by Garak's annoyingly strong fingers, and rage bubbled up inside him before Garak had even fully removed it from his mouth. Before his words even reached his brain, he spit out the gag and screamed, "Don't touch me, you fucking Cardassian pig - I am not your fucking slave - I am not your fucking Maquis WHORE -" He froze in terror.

Garak's hand continued resting on the back of his neck, perfectly still, his face registering no emotion, his eyes frighteningly passive and unreadable. Bashir closed his eyes and let his head flop back down onto the mattress. Good move, he told himself, good choice of words while you're still tied helpless to his bed - Oh dear Lord, grant me an easy death - Garak leaned forward, still without speaking, and began to quickly and efficiently unfasten the bindings holding Bashir's ankles, then his hands. Bashir turned and slithered to the edge of the mattress while Garak sank back into a kneeling position and said quietly, "I fell asleep on the floor of my shop - I was horrified when I woke up. I'm so sorry -"

"NO - not again. Not ever again," Bashir spat. "Not one fucking word from you." Garak was ashen-faced, his very silence and subdued manner causing Bashir to spiral up once more toward blinding rage. "I've suffered enough for you and been humiliated enough, FOR you and BY you - what the hell is your problem, Garak? Why don't you LEAVE ME ALONE? Wasn't it enough to see THEM torture me? Did you want your turn too?" Garak closed his eyes and covered them with his hands; Bashir sprang forward and pulled the arms apart, screaming into the Cardassian's face, "ANSWER ME, I said!"

"You - you just told me not to -" Garak began, his head still cast down; Bashir, in his fury, heard his tone as mocking and sprang again for him, reaching back and trying to slam his fist into the side of Garak's head; Garak grabbed the arm and twisted it behind Bashir's back, wrestling him down to the floor as Bashir thrashed and swore, then screamed aloud in pain. Garak slightly released his hold, giving Bashir an opening to scramble free, but Garak grabbed both his legs and pulled him toward him, on his naked back, which scraped painfully against the carpet. Garak, kneeling in front of him, took hold of Bashir's ankles and savagely pushed his knees up, pulling Bashir closer to him at the same time. 

"NO!" Bashir screamed again. "NO! Not ever again!! NO!! I'll fucking KILL you first!!" Garak leaned over him and put one hand over his mouth to silence him; Bashir clawed at Garak's face and chest, but the Cardassian was immovable, inexorable. "Doctor, please, I won't -" Bashir rolled to the side from underneath him, then swung viciously at his head once more; Garak began to shout at him, this time in Kardasi, before closing his hands around the human' s slender neck.

\-----

"Fucking Cardie - hold still," the boy panted, red-faced with exertion, as he leaned against Garak's hips, trying to force his legs apart. Two others held Garak's arms down, pinning them to the floor and laughing uproariously at their companion's struggles. "Hold him - hold him!" he urged as Garak thrashed furiously under him. "I've got to get him up a little higher -"

"Oh, just turn him over."

"No, I want him THIS way - I want him to see who's fucking him, the Cardassian pig." He grunted with the effort of simultaneously pulling Garak up and trying to thrust into him. Bashir hung onto the chain overhead, his whole body limp, his knees too weak to support his weight. He remembered the first time he and Garak had made love in that position, the warm bed, the glowing starlight, Garak caressing his legs, hips, chest... I'm going to make this up to him - I'm going to undo this, he thought. I'm going to make him forget that all this ever happened. He heard the crack of a fist on Garak's jaw, then another, then another, until the Cardassian finally stopped struggling and surrendered. Bashir couldn't watch. He turned his face away, then suddenly felt a hand grasp the back of his head and twist it back. "Take a look, pretty boy - your turn next."

\-----


	4. Chapter 4

Garak collapsed onto him, falling onto the floor with a thud. Then he lay with his arms loosely wrapped around Bashir's neck and shoulders, sobbing against him, his chest heaving. Bashir was stunned - the disorientation from the near-choking left him still dizzy and lightheaded, and now the sound of a Cardassian male, CRYING - he could hardly remember where he was any more, why he was on the floor, why he seemed to hurt everywhere - "It's... it's all right... Garak, it's all right." He tried to bring a hand up to Garak's shoulder, but his arms felt too weak to lift. "Shh..." he murmured, "it's all right." It was, wasn't it? What was Garak's name again... what was it... Elim. "Shh, Elim," - but why was everything all right? "They can't hurt us any more - they're dead, remember? They're all dead. It's over. We don't have to keep re-living it, every single day, every time we're together. They're dead. It's over." Garak shook his head; his face remained buried tightly in Bashir's neck. "Yes, they are - it's over." Bashir awkwardly patted and smoothed the back of Garak's head. "Dukat -" What about Dukat? He stared at the ceiling and tried to concentrate, but in his current mood of both stress and relief, he really didn't know what to say. Garak had raised himself on his arms, placing one hand on either side of Bashir's head, gazing down at him. Bashir tried to focus - the blue eyes were really quite extraordinary, and how like a Cardassian Garak looked, the ridges, the intense gaze... 'Well, of course he's Cardassian, you idiot,' Bashir smirked to himself. 'Come on now - breathe.'

"Julian - Julian - my baby, my sweet baby," Garak lifted him slightly and cradled him in his arms, sitting on the floor and pulling Bashir into his lap. "What have I done to you?" Bashir couldn't remember why he had ever been frightened of this man, this gentle man, as he lay against his chest. His hair was being smoothed back from his forehead, and Garak was kissing him, sobbing into his neck again, "I couldn't watch them hurt you any more. I couldn't - I've never seen anyone I loved hurt like that. I couldn't take it. I couldn't help you. I couldn't -"

"You DID help me," Bashir breathed. "You tried to protect me - you were the brave one, not me. You would have done anything for me..."

"But I did NOTHING for you." He began rocking slightly, Bashir still in his lap. "I could do nothing but watch them. I thought I was strong, but I'm not - I see them every minute, every minute of the day, and there's still NOTHING I can do to stop them. I know I hurt you - I know I can't stop -"

"But," Bashir tried to focus, "but you have to stop - I'm not your enemy - you and I are TOGETHER -"

"it's not that simple." Garak sat up straighter and gazed into Bashir's eyes. "I thought I could handle anything - I thought I was strong. Remember, my dear Julian - I was in the Order; do you have any IDEA of what that means? What things that prepared me for? What I saw there? But I couldn't handle watching them hurt you - I never was told to watch someone like you get hurt..."

"Garak..."

"It doesn't go away, except for a few seconds when I... when I hurt you. I don't have control any more, I can't make it stop. It's worse than the implant, doctor, because this time there truly is NOTHING you can do for me, except leave. Leave me and never come back." 

"Garak, listen to me." Bashir sat up and leaned back against the Cardassian's chest. "Listen carefully. I love you. I would have given my life for you, as I know you would have done for me. You did not do anything wrong then - and neither did I. It was not YOUR FAULT. We don't have to keep punishing ourselves for being captured and tortured. Do you hear me?" Garak nodded miserably. "You know we have a problem." No answer. "We have a BIG problem. and it's not just you, but..." What could he say? Of course Garak knew all about their problem; every time he flew into a rage and attacked Bashir, their problem grew. They had already discussed it, Garak had always promised to do better, to calm down and think about what he was doing, and then they'd be back right where they started, trapped inside the cycle of flashback all over again. They needed to try something new, something dramatic, something that would finally bring home the fact that their ordeal was over and that they didn't have to keep reliving the torture, waking and sleeping. Bashir corrected himself - Garak perhaps re-lived it while he slept, but only he himself continued to physically suffer. And I'll suffer as long as Garak needs me to, he resolutely decided. Yet if there were only some way to break through, to convince him it was over...

"Garak, they're dead."

"I know that," he answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and avoiding Bashir's eyes.

"They can't hurt us - hurt me - any more - they're dead. I know you don't remember it, but you were there - you were there when Dukat and the others killed them. You were there."

"Yes, I was there." He sat forward, staring unseeing at the far wall. Bashir tried to stand but abandoned the attempt until Garak reached down and helped hoist him to his feet. Then he sat next to Garak, gazing in the same direction. What was the point of all this? He'd never really leave him, he knew; he was too far gone himself, too wrapped up in protecting Garak and seeing him through this, in refusing to allow anyone else, anyone who hadn't been there, to learn the full extent of Garak's humiliation and pain and to interfere. Yet he wasn't ready to give up his life for the sake of Garak's delusions and rages - there must be something, something dramatic and effective, that he could do to help him. He tried to concentrate, to think of what would be the best way to convince Garak, and himself, to move on and stop being afraid. But what?

\----- 

The stench of burning human flesh filled the air, sparks cascading down from the damaged lighting panels overhead. Bashir collapsed onto the floor when the phaser blast sliced through his chains. Dukat scooped him up like a baby and slung him over his shoulder, his other arm still holding the rifle as he moved through the smoke. Bashir assumed that the shouts he heard were Cardassian soldiers running down the corridors, calling out to each other in their search. As far as he had been able to determine, there were only six Maquis, and he saw bodies scattered throughout the ship as he flopped upside down against Dukat's back, blood trickling down his arms. He concentrated, in fact, on counting, and through his haze decided he did see six bodies, six dead Maquis, who, he hoped, would burn in hell for all eternity. Garak was dead. They had won - they had killed him after all, tortured him to death; they called it "Cardassian style" but Bashir knew better. They used their own style, and he prayed with all his soul that there was a God who was now inflicting it on them in return. He would find out soon enough for himself - after he said good-bye to Garak, he planned to go after them and pursue them into whatever hell he found them to exact his own revenge. He hoped that Garak, wherever he rested, would wait for him and welcome him there.

\-----

"Garak," he began, absently stirring his cup of tea, "I've been doing some investigating... I found out where they're buried."

"You did WHAT?" Garak had been sullenly picking at the food on his plate, oblivious to the stares he and Bashir were receiving. They hadn't eaten together in the replimat in weeks.

"I found out where they're buried. Three of them were taken back to Earth, but - three of them are on Bajor."

"Bajor? They were human, I thought you told me."

"Yes, I know, but they obviously had friends on Bajor, because they're in a Bajoran cemetery. Without a doubt, it's them."

"Which three?"

"I don't know exactly which three," he said impatiently. "I mean, I found out the names - it so happens that they were brothers, but as for identifying WHO they were -" He paused. Which of the terrorists had given any indication that they were brothers? If he closed his eyes, he could see them all as clearly as he could see Garak now, pushing his fork around on his plate with a pensive expression on his face. But if he tried to focus on a specfic person, tried to see the one who was the most violent, or the most talkative, or the most sadistic - no, it was impossible. Their faces began to blend together into a hazy mist. It seemed almost too painful to try.

Garak finally spoke. "And what are you suggesting we do with this information, doctor?"

"We go and see them." Garak's fork clattered onto his plate as he stared wide-eyed at Bashir. "You know what I mean - we visit the gravesite, see the names for ourselves, prove to ourselves once and for all that they're dead, and buried, while we can go on living and start to forget about them."

"I didn't realize this was standard Federation therapy, planting flowers on the graves of Maquis terrorists."

"I didn't say we should plant flowers, Garak. I simply want us to try to come to terms with their deaths in some way, so you can... ah..." How far should he go with this; he had still not discussed any of their difficulties with the Starfleet counselor and wasn't sure how far to push, "so you can... stop identifying me with them -" Garak's eyes blazed with indignation, "and so that we can see they're gone and can't hurt us any more..." There. 

"Don't you think I KNOW that, doctor? Just how ignorant do you think I am? Don't you think the chances for harm outweigh any possible benefit? Don't you think I dream about all of it often enough, without you forcing me to pay my respects to these animals?"

"Garak, please, I'm not forcing you to pay any respect, it's just that I think perhaps this will help you..."

"You think perhaps this will help YOU, doctor. I've already told you - your theory that I somehow identify you with those Maquis is absurd." Bashir didn't answer. "Do you think I'm so ignorant that I can't tell the difference between terrorists and Starfleet officers? Do you think I just FORGOT all the hours we've spent together, all the meals we've shared, all the times you've invited me willingly into your bed -"

"Garak!" Bashir glanced at the other diners scattered around the room; Garak was becoming noticeably louder and more agitated.

"Well, I DIDN'T forget. I can never forget any of it, not what they were, and certainly not what you are and what they did to you. Please do me the honor of crediting me with at least that much sanity."

"All right, Garak. Pretend I didn't mention it." Bashir stabbed his fork viciously into his food. Yes, Garak was fine, everything was fine, there was no need for any sort of catharsis whatsoever. None. Here they go again. He threw down the fork, rested his chin in his hand, and stared disconsolately at the opposite wall. "If you'll excuse me, I'm really not hungry." He started to rise; Garak reached for his arm and pulled him back down.

"Wait." Bashir sat motionless. "Doctor... please forgive me. I'm sorry." Bashir didn't answer. "It's just that... I have serious doubts about the wisdom of this expedition you're proposing." So do I, Bashir thought, so do I. "Did the counselor actually agree to this plan?" Bashir was silent at first, then said under his breath, "Garak - I'm not involving any one else in this - I'm not letting anyone else see how seriously this has affected y- us. If they were to force you off the station for any of this, I know I'd never be allowed to see you again. No, I can help you - this will help US. Let me be the one to help you. It's because of me that you went through all that."

Garak sighed. "What results are you expecting for us? Do you think we'll suddenly and magically be able to forget everything that's happened, maybe even start to pretend it never DID? I assure you, doctor, I can never forget."

"I know." He reached across the table and covered Garak's fingers with his own, then glanced quickly at the other diners to make sure no one was watching. "I'll never forget either. But maybe this is the first step we need to take to BEGIN forgetting." He hoped so, anyway. He was not a therapist; for all he knew, he was simply hurrying them into a situation in which dead Maquis would now replace living Maquis in their nightmares. But he had to try. After their recent breakthrough, Garak was again receding into himself, becoming less communicative, more preoccupied and more antagonistic. And despite all Garak's protestations to the contrary, Bashir didn't know how much longer he could continue to play the imaginary role of captured Maquis terrorist without another serious incident.

"When are you suggesting we go there?"

"To Bajor, you mean?" Garak nodded. "A transport leaves at least every day. We can be on the next one, tomorrow, spend the night there -" Garak wouldn't dare get too carried away in a Bajoran inn, "then go to the cemetery the following morning and take the return transport home. I'll be as unobtrusive as I can about it - I doubt if anyone will even know we were gone."

"So you've already planned all this?"

"Of course. Just a little excursion for our mutual peace of mind." He smiled. He had won; it was time to offer a reward in return. "You know, Garak, I'm really not very hungry. Why don't we go back to your room to discuss the trip?" Garak wordlessly rose to his feet and carried both trays to the disposal chute, Bashir following behind him. 'You didn't really need to ask for it,' he thought, but on the other hand, what was the harm in making the first move now, for a change, and letting Garak know how much he wanted and desired him?

\-----

Bashir's hoarse wails echoed down the corridor of the ship - the Cardassian medic standing nearby kept repeating something to him, but unfortunately he spoke no Federation Standard. "No! NO! Let me see him! Please show me where he is - please let me see him..." Bashir was beside himself with fear - they were going to have Garak cremated, or send his body into space, or - he had to see him, he needed to be allowed to see him just one more time. Where were they keeping him - what did they do with bodies on a Cardassian warship? Bashir had never traveled on one and had no idea. The medic grasped his shoulder as Bashir thrashed around on the bed, up and down. "Let me see him! You don't understand, I HAVE TO see him -" He heard the door hiss open, and saw Dukat's familiar figure approach him and stand next to the bed.

"Doctor Bashir - they told me you've regained consciousness. I'm sorry, but I'm the only one on this mission who speaks Standard - "

"Please - will you let me see him?"

"What?"

"No one can understand me - I need to see him - Garak. Please, don't let them take the body away until I can see him."

"The body? Garak is in surgery right now, in that room." He pointed to a doorway.

"Please don't lie to me - they told me he was dead..." he rasped.

"He was certainly close to it, but he'll live. The Maquis who told you that, on the other hand, are all in our morgue, awaiting identification. Would you like to see THEM?" Bashir didn't answer. Garak, alive - he could still see him, could still touch him, could still be with him - it was all over, and they had won, everything would be all right from now on. Dukat was leaning over the cot, looking uncertainly into Bashir's face, and Bashir reached out and hooked him tightly around the neck, pulling him closer. He saw the Gul's bemused expression, but he didn't care, he hung on to Dukat's neck as if he were trying to strangle him, Dukat patiently enduring the embrace.

\-----

"Excuse me, " Bashir said to the elderly Bajoran woman behind the counter. She looked up and smiled at him good-naturedly. "Excuse me, but I was hoping you could help me - I'm looking for someone here." His Bajoran was rusty but understandable; he had decided against bringing the universal translator and was dressed in casual civilian clothing.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for these names -" he showed her a small slip of paper, "I know they're buried in this cemetery but I have no idea how to find them. It would have been quite recently too..."

"Certainly; I'll look." She turned to a computer console and began tapping in the names. "Yes... yes, here they are - they're actually in a family mausoleum under the name of Toma, which is in section... 27."

A mausoleum - that meant they were above ground, not buried meters deep in the soil. Not good - he had an ominous feeling that it was not good at all. "Can you show me where that is?"

"Of course." She swiveled the screen toward Bashir and displayed a map of the cemetery, all winding roads and paths and streams; the grounds were enormous. "Just follow along the main road - there - until you reach this intersecting road - yes, this one," Bashir traced it with a finger, "then follow THAT one until you reach this path along the river. I'm afraid you'll have to follow it for quite a long way - you'll see that it's lined with mausoleums, and this area -" she showed him a number on the map, " is section 27, so it will be here."

"Thank you - I think I can find it. But would it be possible to get a copy of the map?"

"Of course." She tapped a key and handed Bashir a printout. "I'm afraid part of it is in Old Bajoran, as are some of the monuments here," she said apologetically. "And I do need to tell you that I leave here in half an hour and lock the gate."

"That's all right - I'll come back tomorrow then. And thank you for the map - I just need to see the roads. Thank you again."

"Were they friends of yours?"

"Hmm?"

"Were those young men friends of yours? I'm very sorry - I notice in the records that they were all interred on the same day."

"They - no, they weren't friends. I was there when they died."

"I'm very sorry." She said nothing more, offering him an uncomfortable smile, and Bashir smiled politely at her and backed out of the little office, heading toward the main gate. Garak was waiting for him in the shadows nearby. He approached Bashir.

"So, doctor, did you locate them? Are they here?"

"Yes - they're in section 27, wherever that is." He showed Garak the map. "I suggest we walk down this road, cross over here -" Garak looked at him impatiently. "Oh, and she locks the gates in half an hour. We'll need to sneak around in the opposite direction if we stay - she thinks I'm leaving. I don't see why we couldn't have just waited until tomorrow morning." 

"As far as I can determine, this woman is the only person here now - in the morning, there'd likely be others. I have no idea if there are night security patrols, but by the looks of this place, I doubt it. So I suggest we find an alternate means of departure in case we can't, or shouldn't, slip back out through these gates." Bashir looked uneasy, but only nodded, and, holding the map in front of him, led Garak down the circuitous main road encircling the grounds. The late afternoon sun was filtered through thin clouds, diffusing the light and casting a ruddy glow onto the cemetery. It appeared to be one of the city's oldest; many of the ornate grave markers seemed to be from an earlier time, with some leaning precariously or even, in a few cases, toppled over onto the ground. Private mausoleums were positioned at random along the road and on the grounds, some grand and imposing, most small and plain or even crumbling. Through the metal grate covering one doorway, however, Bashir glimpsed an old and exquisite stained glass window. The landscape was covered with trees, and hilly; Bashir was soon panting with exertion as Garak impatiently pulled him along, barely looking to the right or the left. The road turned and another road branched off of it.

"There - we should have gone that way."

"I told you, we have to find an alternate exit first." He continued hurrying along the road, until it veered toward the high brick wall surrounding the cemetery.

"Garak - I don't think I can climb that."

"Of course not, doctor - nor can I. Let's follow it, though, to see if there are any openings." There weren't, not for a long distance, and Bashir began to wonder if they would even be able to find section 27 once the sun began to set. Garak suddenly noticed a shed a hundred meters away or so through the trees, abutting the wall. "There! We can climb onto the roof, hoist ourselves up, and drop down the other side."

"Yes, and break our legs too."

"No, I'll go first and help you down. It's perfect, doctor - let me see the map and mark this area." He did so. "And now - it's time for us to go and - pay our respects." Bashir began once more to protest the choice of words, then gulped and ran up the hill behind him.

\----

Garak's back rose and fell as he slept partly curled up, but mostly face down; Bashir watched him, entranced. He had been watching him continuously for two hours, in fact - every few moments, his eyes flitted up to the diagnostic readouts above the bed, then came to rest again on Garak. He was alive, and safely aboard a Cardassian ship, no less. The implications of that were interesting, although it appeared so far that he was being considered a rescued Federation, not Cardassian, citizen. Bashir hoped so, anyway - he didn't relish the thought of living in Cardassian territory, which was exactly what he'd do if Garak decided to return. He was never going to let him out of his sight again. Someone had entered the room and lifted the covering off of Bashir's back, preparing to clean the wounds once more. He at first had cringed at the cool and impersonal touch of his Cardassian caregivers, but had now learned to relax somewhat and take comfort in the fact that Garak was being equally well treated, his beautiful body being healed by his own people again, this time not by Bashir's.

\-----


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this chapter gets rather graphic.

The path along the river was narrow, overgrown and winding, and was, as the woman in the office had told Bashir, lined with mausoleums, in various stages of age and disrepair. It appeared as if very few people ever ventured to this area of the cemetery - why had three young humans been interred here at all? Probably because the burial space had been donated, Bashir angrily reflected, by some anti-Cardassian Bajoran. Disgusting - they were all monsters, every one of them, the Bajorans too. He scanned the row of mausoleums, the darkened doorways strangely menacing in the long shadows. Garak, too, was examining each structure, becoming more and more impatient.

"This is section 27, Garak - it must be. But I don't read Old Bajoran, so how am I going to be able to find the name 'Toma'?"

"I CAN read Old Bajoran, doctor, and I still don't see it." They continued along the path, Garak in the lead, Bashir walking behind him and puzzling over the map. Garak stopped abruptly and Bashir nearly crashed into him.

"What is it?"

"Toma." He pointed at the name carved over the door of a particularly ornate mausoleum that had been partially set into the sloping hill. "They're inside." Bashir felt his heart begin to pound. Maybe this had been a mistake - he had come here to pray, perhaps, to find some kind of peace, bring the nightmare to an end, but Garak was giving more and more indication that he regarded this expedition as a type of revenge. Why did it have to be so secret, so covert, at sunset and behind locked gates... He wanted to tell him that "they" weren't really in the mausoleum at all, not in the way that mattered any more, but Garak was pulling him toward the doorway. They pressed their faces against the metal grating that comprised the door, their hands grasping the bars. Inside, in the remaining sunlight that streamed down from an opening in the roof, a face regarded them warily. Bashir jumped back in terror. "Relax, doctor, it's only a statue," Garak admonished him. He looked again - it was a bust of an elderly, evidently distinguished Bajoran man, resting on a pedestal against the far wall. Cut into the hillside behind that wall were the actual crypts, twenty-four in rows of six across. The floor of the chamber consisted of gold and beige tiles, leaf-strewn and covered with a film of dirt. Only ten of the crypts seemed to have been used; seven of them, nearest the roof, were faced with discolored stone and were quite old, the most recent burial having been sixty years in the past.

But the three crypts fronted by new, white stone covers drew Bashir's attention, side by side on the bottom row. Their inscriptions, neatly incised, were in Standard, easy to read in the shadows that darkened the edges of the letters. The oldest of the brothers had been 20; above the names and dates of each one, along all three stones, ran the verse, "'He only lived but till he was a man... But like a man he died.'"

"'Macbeth,'" Garak snorted in disgust. Bashir glanced at him, surprised. "Someone had the temerity to immortalise them with Shakespeare. Well, then, let us also remember another quote from 'Macbeth': 'It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'"

Bashir glanced over at him again. He seemed to be handling the situation well enough, no obvious hysteria, no violent rage... Still, there was little peace here for him either, in these morbid surroundings. Garak was inhaling deeply of the musty air inside the mausoleum, as he pressed his face into the bars. Bashir's voice echoed inside the building. "I think - I think we should pray now."

"Pray?" Garak gave an incredulous bark of laughter and turned toward him. "By all means, doctor, you go ahead and pray if you want to. I'm going inside."

"Garak - you can't - we're not supposed to do that - the door's locked -"

Without answering, Garak grabbed hold of the bars and pulled; the rusty metal hinges easily gave way and the door sprang open. "You were saying?" He stepped into the shadowed mausoleum, Bashir following, the door swinging shut behind him. They stood together in front of the three crypts, gazing down at them; Bashir leaned down and traced a finger along one of the names. "You see, Garak? It's over. What a waste of their lives. I hope they're at some kind of peace now - maybe we can be at peace too."

Garak crouched down and began to feel along the edges of the marker nearest the wall, then took a small knife out of his pocket and started unfastening the ornamental screws holding the entire tablet in place. "What are you doing?" Bashir asked, horrified.

"I think you know very well what I'm doing. This is a most unexpected opportunity."

"Opportunity for what? To smash the stones?"

"To see for ourselves that they're really dead, and that this isn't some Bajoran trick." Oh God, Bashir thought, he's insane, I've trapped myself all alone inside an isolated mausoleum with an insane Cardassian... Garak had managed to loosen the cover, which he slid out of position and deposited on the floor, against the side wall. Behind the tablet was another blank panel of concrete, to Bashir's intense relief.

"You see? It's impossible to get in there. You can't do it, so let's leave now before someone finds us."

"Nonsense, doctor. This merely covers the vault - it can be broken." His eyes darted around the room, but the area was bare, save for some dried leaves and the statue and pedestal that were both too large and heavy to be used as tools. He stepped to the door and pried loose a long metal bar. Bashir was crouched over, trying to move the covering back into place, but Garak angrily flung him aside and his shoulder crashed into the pedestal. "Stay out of my way," he growled.

"Garak - someone may find us here - we don't know for sure about any security patrols -"

"I doubt it - I think we're the only living beings in this place." He had begun smashing at the concrete with the bar, and within seconds it was cracking and crumbling onto the tile floor. Bashir peered down into the opening and saw the gleam of a metal handle.

"Oh my GOD - no - no, please, this isn't right -"

Garak pulled on the handle, sliding the wooden casket out of the niche. His breathing increased with the effort of maneuvering the heavy weight, which finally thudded down the short distance from the vault to the floor. "Well," he panted, resting his hands on top of the coffin, "shall we look inside?"

Bashir didn't speak, but began to back away, both horrified and fascinated. "Oh come now, doctor, surely you've seen a dead body before." Garak reached down and tried to open the lid; it was of course securely fastened. With an angry grunt, he shoved the metal bar against the lid and then managed to pry it loose; it flew open with a loud crack and the odor of decay mixed with some sort of embalming fluid filtered out into the room. "There he is, doctor - come and see." Bashir gingerly approached the open coffin. Long, spidery fingers of mold floated from the face down into the clothing; the face was a mottled bluish-gray from both the mold and the phaser blasts. The odor rising from the body turned sweet and cloying, like decaying flowers, and Bashir stared in fascination at the face he could never forget and yet hardly remembered.

"All right," he managed to say at last, "we've seen him, he's dead, so let's go. He can't hurt us any more. I think this whole thing has been a mistake." The boy was still faintly recognizable as the one who had practically whipped them both to death. Garak stood staring down at him in a kind of daze, then roused himself.

\-----

He and Garak sat side by side on the biobed, their trays balanced awkwardly on their laps. "It's not like one of our usual lunches, is it?" Bashir smiled.

"No." Garak stared down at his plate. "Although... I never thought I'd be so happy to eat Cardassian combat rations."

Bashir laughed. "Garak, they're not feeding us combat - - well, anyway, whatever it is, it's delicious." He raised another spoonful of soup to his lips, careful not to spill it as his hand trembled. A sudden feeling of happiness again overtook him. He was sitting so near to Garak that he could feel the side of the Cardassian's thigh press against his own; it was wonderful to be this close again, to touch. He placed the spoon back in the bowl and reached out to gently squeeze Garak's hand.

Garak jumped up, tipping his tray onto the floor. "Don't touch me like that in here." Bashir, stunned and embarrassed, could not think of anything to say at first. Garak stood a little apart from him, his chest heaving, food spattered on the floor and the legs of his pajamas.

"I'm - I'm sorry, Garak - I'm sorry. But we're alone here, no one can see us. I thought it would be all right. Please - forgive me." He placed his own tray on the bed and hesitantly approached the Cardassian, holding his shaking hands out in front of him. "I would never do anything to hurt or upset you, Elim. I didn't know you wouldn't want that just now -"

"Of course I want it." Garak's hostility seemed to drain from him and he gently grasped Bashir's shoulder, then awkwardly encircled him with his arms. "I'm just - nervous lately. I feel as if they'll burst in here at any moment and see us like this, use it against us."

Bashir leaned in to the timidly offered embrace. "Of course you feel that way - it's perfectly natural to. But no one is going to hurt us - I'll make sure they don't; I'll protect us." Garak stroked the back of Bashir's head but said nothing, then began to pull away - Bashir clasped him more tightly around the neck and kissed him.

\-----

"I want to see the others."

"No, they'll all look just like this one - let's go." Garak paid no attention to him, as he pried the second coffin loose in the same way, then snapped the lid open and stared down at the body inside. "Look, Julian - remember him?"

He certainly did. This one, even nearly unrecognizable as he was now, was the Maquis who had delighted in raping both of them several times a day, to the great amusement of his companions. Bashir shuddered involuntarily. "I don't WANT to see these people any more, Garak - I just want to leave."

"Then leave."

"Not without you."

Garak pushed the pedestal aside to provide easier access to the third vault. The casket lid again flew upward with a crack, and Bashir peered hesitantly inside. The face was likewise a greenish-purple from the mold and the phaser blasts; however, it was impossible for Bashir not to recognize the boy who had most often been his own personal tormentor. Garak observed his expression, reached into the coffin, hooked both hands under the corpse's armpits and lifted it out, then turned it so its back was to him. Its head tilted down onto its chest, but the arms and legs remained stiff, the hands unnaturally curved into claws. Garak grasped one of the arms and swiveled so he and the corpse faced Bashir.

"Look, doctor! He's waving at you!" He pushed at the arm, it flopped back down, and he pushed it out again and jiggled it up and down by the elbow. "What was it he'd always say to you - something about being pretty - I don't think you can say that in return now, hmm?" Bashir, shocked into incoherence, couldn't stop one corner of his mouth from curving into a smile, which shocked him even more. Okay, Garak, he thought, enough's enough, you've had your revenge, time to put them back the way we found them and get the hell OUT of here -

Garak had dumped the corpse over the coffin and was reaching underneath it, pulling the jacket off over the stiff limbs. "What are you doing?" Bashir glanced fearfully at the doorway. "Stealing their clothes? Garak, come on, let's close these things back UP now."

"In a moment - I have to strip this one first."

"For God's sake - WHY?"

"Because, doctor, you now get your chance to have HIM."

"Oh my GOD, Garak." He took a step backward, all the blood draining from his face. "I'm not - I'm not - we're getting OUT of here, NOW." His voice echoed eerily inside the damp chamber; Garak ignored him, roughly pulling off the corpse's shirt and then reaching down toward the trousers. "Garak - Garak - LISTEN to me... I am not TOUCHING that thing. Do you hear me?"

"Then I'll do it for you." Garak had managed to pull the pants down to the corpse's knees, then lifted it up again by the armpits and turned it so it lay draped across the coffin on its stomach, part of its body resting inside the coffin, part hanging over the edges. Its skin had the oily consistency of thin, greasy paper, cold, with deep indentations where the clothing or Garak's fingers had pressed it.

Bashir moved toward Garak, gesturing wildly. "NO, I said! Let's get OUT of here - don't DO this." Garak flung him backward and he fell, seat first, on top of another body. He scrambled to raise himself off of it, grasping the edge of the casket for leverage, then propelling himself forward toward the Cardassian. "Listen to me, please," he begged, grasping a handful of his shirt, "you don't have to do this for me. They're dead - look at them! - we've won. Let's go before someone finds us here."

"No one will find us here now, trust me. Besides, we'd scare them a great deal more than they'd scare us. And I have no intention of leaving until I can say good-bye to every one of the - brothers." The light from the setting sun shone down through the hole in the roof, tinting Garak's skin a reddish-gray and wreathing his eyes in menacing shadows. Bashir had a sudden horrifying vision of Garak abusing all three of the bodies, then throwing him down on the dirty tile floor and taking him too, corpses scattered all around him, grimaces frozen onto their faces.

"All right, then, I'M leaving." He turned toward the door; Garak spun him around by the shoulder.

"We're not finished here."

"Oh yes we are." The eyes of the corpse onto which Bashir had fallen were partially sunken in, and the sockets in the reddish light looked like deep, black, unseeing eyes. The sight made his skin crawl - he grasped Garak by the forearm and pleaded, "Don't do this to me, please, Garak - you have to let me out of here. I can't... I can't touch them, not ever again. Please, don't make me watch this - please, let's just leave them here and go."

"What, abandon them like this? When they deserve so much more respect from us? Don't forget, they died like men, like heroes." He glanced over at the corpse he had stripped. "I have an idea."

"Don't make me touch -":

"No, no, doctor," he said resignedly, as if to a child, "I'll make you do nothing. Nothing. Stand over there." He gestured toward the corner farthest from the doorway. Bashir cowered in it, his hand over his mouth. Garak stepped over to one of the bodies, squatted down, and hooked his arm around the corpse's neck. As he lifted it up, his other hand grasped its head and he gave a powerful twist. Yellow fluid began to trickle from the nose and mouth as Garak twisted again in the other direction, with enough force to have snapped every bone in a living human's neck. He grasped the head on either side then, lifting it away from the body - a few more pulls with his strong arms, and he had simultaneously twisted and torn the head free of the shoulders. Fluid dripped from it to the floor as he carried it, by the hair, to the pedestal in front of the crypts. Then he carefully balanced it on top of the head of the statue, tiny yellow rivulets dribbling down its face, and stood back as though to admire his work.

"What do you think, doctor? What's the human expression, 'Two heads are better than one'?"

\-----

He reached across the space between the two beds and took hold of Garak's hand, oblivious to the presence of anyone else in sickbay. Garak smiled weakly back at him - to Bashir that smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His stomach fluttered with relief and happiness. "Garak," her managed to whisper, "Garak... Elim...." He could say nothing more. Garak gripped his hand tightly and continued to gaze at him, his blue eyes filled with emotion that he was still unable to say aloud. To Bashir, he had never seemed more appealing, more loving. Garak, he thought, I'm yours forever, I'm yours for the rest of your life. Only yours. I love you. I'll make this up to you, I promise you. I will never forget how strong and how brave you were for me - I'm going to be that way for you, too. Whatever they did to you, I promise I can undo.

\-----


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - still somewhat graphic in the beginning.

Bashir stared, openmouthed. Garak strode decisively over to the third, still untouched, cadaver, hoisting it out of the coffin and again draping it over the side. He roughly stripped it as well, breathing hard with impatience as the damp clothing clung to the body more tightly this time. Then he lifted it into his arms and placed it over the other naked corpse, arranging it so it wouldn't slide off.

"What do you think?"

"About - about what?" Bashir's voice was almost a whisper.

"Your friend here, of course - since you refuse to take him, we'll make it look like his fellow Maquis will," he snarled.

Bashir closed his eyes. "Can we please get out of here? Now?" His voice was defeated, subdued. Garak glanced at him.

"Yes, yes, doctor - we'll go. We're finished here." He angrily pulled Bashir by the arm toward the doorway, pausing there to survey the mausoleum a final time. Three square holes gaped in the wall, near which were scattered three open coffins, two empty. Two naked bodies were draped over one of them, partially in the light, while the third coffin, completely in shadow now, contained the headless body; its head, still perched on top of the statue, was illumined by the faint light streaming down from the roof. The scene was so incongruous, so horrifying, that Bashir suddenly found he was no longer frightened by it. Seeing his Maquis tormentors, even if only in death, receive some measure of physical abuse was strangely liberating after all. He suddenly shook off Garak's hold, grabbed the iron bar that had been used to smash open the vaults, and, with a shout and a tremendous heave, thrust it into the back of the body lying on top of the casket, driving it in as far as he could, trying to impale the one below as well. As soon as he finished, Garak pulled him outside, slammed the broken door closed, and began to run with him down the path along the river. The evening was fresh and cool; the air inside the mausoleum had been damp, musty, sweet with the smell of decay. Bashir took in great lungfuls of air as he ran, Garak's hand gripping his arm.

He began to smile; this was almost fun, this successful escape from such a scene of horror. He raced down paths and over the long grass, dodging tombstones, and glancing over at Garak who seemed, as usual, to be having very little trouble with the physical exertion. Garak had also remembered the escape route; to Bashir, all the paths and monuments began to look confusingly alike in the growing dusk. He started to laugh, which made it even more difficult to run, so he finally pulled Garak down on top of him, behind a particularly large stone, and leaned against it, still laughing. Garak watched him, surprised at first, and then he too began to laugh.

"Garak - did you - did you -" he gasped for air, "did you see how FUNNY that looked?" He was sounding hysterical, he knew, which made him laugh even harder. "He waved at me!" He collapsed onto the grass, on his back, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. "That was so horrid! 'Two heads are better than one!' I can't believe you said that, Garak! You truly are insane! Wait'll someone SEES that -" The thought sent both Garak and himself into another paroxysm of guilty laughter, and they clung to each other, rolling on the grass, until they came to rest against the stone. Bashir's face was pressed to Garak's chest, and a feeling of relief and contentment began to wash over him. Was THIS what it took, after all, this horrible thing they had done together? All he knew was that he was with Garak, his partner in love and pain and now possibly even in danger, and they were both laughing and happy - he felt an all-pervading sense of well-being and affection. Maybe, he thought, it's the freedom after being shut up in that tomb, or maybe it's just being outside, in the open air, away from the station and all the watchful eyes there - whatever it was, Bashir felt a sudden exhilarating urge to act on his feelings with uninhibited abandon.

"Garak," he murmured into his chest, "I have never wanted you more than I do now."

Garak looked down at him and smiled indulgently. "Oh really? I have a difficult time believing that."

"Well, it's true, I want you now, right here." His mouth slid down Garak's chest, trailing kisses down his freshly stained tunic all the way to his stomach. When he reached the trousers, his hands moved to unfasten them as he kissed the growing weight he could feel inside them; Garak's hand covered his own, stopping him.

"Doctor - I really don't wish to be caught in a Bajoran cemetery with my pants down, so to speak."

Bashir laughed guiltily. "Just for a little while?" But Garak was already pulling him to his feet, and they continued scrambling toward the exit, Garak leading the way through the darkening cemetery. They reached the shed that was to be their means of escape, and Bashir climbed up onto the windowsill, hoisting himself up onto the roof with difficulty, Garak behind him. Garak then swung his legs over the top of the brick wall and dropped down the opposite side. Bashir peered over the wall, to where Garak stood waiting below, and his heart began to pound.

"I can't do it - I can't fall that far."

"Yes you can - just let yourself hang over the edge and then drop - I'll catch you."

"All right - if you say so." He was still giddy from exertion and from laughter - if Garak said he could do it, he could do it. He dangled by his hands, then fell, collapsing on top of Garak in a heap and again dissolving into hysterics. "Oh my God, this is funny," he gasped, as Garak disentangled himself. "Please - let's just stay here a while, I'm so tired -"

"We have to reach the transport before morning, doctor. The longer we're on Bajor, the more suspicious it will look if anyone ever finds out what happened." Garak again pulled him to his feet and they began to jog toward the city.

Bashir snuggled next to Garak during the four hour trip back to DS9, kissing and nibbling at his ear ridges. Garak pretended to be reading a datapadd; Bashir clasped an arm around his waist and let the other hand drift down to the Cardassian's lap, trailing his fingers gently over him.

"Doctor!" Garak hissed, grabbing hold of his wrist. "I don't think the Bajorans on this shuttle especially appreciate what you're doing."

"Fuck the Bajorans," he giggled into Garak's ear.

"Not an especially appealing prospect, I assure you." Bashir giggled again. "What I'd really like to do is - well, I'm sure you get the idea."

"Your wish is my command." Bashir faced Garak and climbed onto his lap, straddling him and kissing him on the mouth, biting his full lower lip and moaning softly under his breath. Garak leaned back slightly so that he and Bashir were below the eye level of the other passengers; Bashir's moans, however, were becoming increasingly noticeable.

"Sir?" They looked to the side. "Sir, I'll have to ask you to stop. Other passengers are complaining."

Bashir giggled lasciviously against Garak's neck. "Tell them to stop watching us and mind their own business." Garak, however, pushed him back into his own seat; Bashir continued to kiss his chest and his waist, his arms wrapped around him. In fact, he walked from the shuttle docking bay back to Garak's quarters still kissing him, still with his arm around him, anticipating the pleasure sure to come now that he was finally alone and safe with his lover.

The door hissed closed behind them; he was on the floor, his ear ringing, his face burning. Garak stood over him, barely controlling his anger. "Don't ever humiliate me like that in public again - you're acting like a whore."

\-----

The infirmary - it felt strange to be back in the familiar surroundings of the DS9 infirmary, but as a patient this time. There seemed little reason to stay; he and Garak were slowly healing, and nothing further could be done for them physically that their own bodies could not accomplish. But it made the staff of DS9 "feel better" to know that they were being monitored and constantly cared for. The stream of visitors was flattering and encouraging; not only Bashir but Garak himself was receiving an unusual amount of compassionate attention. Bashir was extremely gratified that the Cardassian's suffering was being taken as seriously as his own. He was equally gratified that almost no one knew the nature of some of their injuries, or any details of their degrading imprisonment; not only was that information private but it was also extremely sensitive to them both. No, he and Garak were being given as much distance as they needed to recover from their ordeal - on the other hand, Bashir did sense that many of their visitors were almost subconsciously linking them together now in a way that went beyond that experience.

Since they had really only recently begun exploring a physical side to their relationship, Bashir didn't relish the thought of the entire station already thinking of them a couple. For that matter, he wondered if he ever would; he found nothing but pleasure, privately, in the thought of being with Garak, but he didn't know when or if he'd ever be ready to acknowledge it publicly. And just how public did Garak himself want their relationship to be? He had no knowledge of the Cardassian perception of same-sex unions - he had certainly never dared to bring the subject up with Garak at lunch, or even after the dinner one night that had eventually, to his shocked and joyful amazement, turned into breakfast. How he treasured the memory of that night, of his fear and the anticipation he had felt then; it was terrifying, fantastic, breathtaking - and wonderful, amazing and wonderful. Even the fear when they had been captured hadn't been as soul-shaking as that first experience of giving himself to Garak, of finally trusting him and realizing that his long-time friend was actually going to enter his bed as his lover. The truly remarkable thing was that no one had seemed at first to notice the change, to suspect that a much deeper relationship was forming between them - no one, that is, until some abusive Maquis terrorists guessed at it and exploited it with a vengeance.

\-----

"What do you WANT from me?" Bashir pleaded, on his knees in front of Garak. "What do I have to do to satisfy you? You force yourself on me and then, whenever I go along with it, you hit me and call me a whore! What the fuck is your problem with me??" Tears started rolling down his face; he had been hurt again both emotionally and physically by Garak's sudden contempt, a contempt Bashir found incomprehensible.

"Doctor, you need to get out. Now."

"No - please tell me what I'm supposed to do. I let you do anything you want to me -" Garak cuffed him hard across the face and he fell sideways onto the floor, then lay curled up, sobbing, at his feet. Garak stared down at him in disgust.

"Get out, Julian, I'm warning you."

"No, please, Garak -" he wrapped his arms around the Cardassian's legs; "please tell me what you want from me. I don't know what to do any more - I can't keep thinking about it and getting it all wrong - it goes on and on and never stops. I can only forget when I'm with you -"

"And I, unfortunately, can NOT forget when I'm with you." He tried to shake Bashir off. "No, doctor, you need to go back to your room, and your job, and your pleasant non-Cardassian friends." Bashir remained huddled at his feet, still sobbing, his forehead pressed against Garak's knee. Garak sank down onto the edge of the bed and sighed heavily; Bashir crawled up to him and clasped him around the waist, burying his face in his lap.

"I'll do anything, I promise you, I won't complain, I won't tell anybody - just let me stay here, I don't want to go back alone - you have to let me help you. You and I are together in this - I'm the only one who can help you."

"Oh, doctor..." Garak sighed again. "Oh my dear doctor... I can't continue to be the cause of this. I can't keep hurting you like they did - I can't watch this happen again." He let his hand fall to Bashir's hair and rest there. "But I think you forget - I am not human. You may think you can control me, even humiliate me -" Bashir shook his head wildly; Garak laced his fingers more tightly through his hair. "I see you do understand me. All right then," he stood and pushed Bashir away from him, "I'm going to show you once more what a Cardassian can't help but do to a human like you, the 'only one who can help him,'" there was a catch in his throat, "the one who forced me to watch him suffer -" He stopped, then began to shout, "You KNEW there was nothing you could do for me. Why didn't you just LEAVE me there, let me go? Why did you force me to endure that, knowing that anything I did would only lead to more suffering for you?"

"Garak -"

"BE QUIET, Julian. Stop humiliating me - stop FORCING me to hurt you!"

"You never hurt me, Garak, not on purpose -"

"STOP IT!" he roared. "Stop offering yourself up to me - STOP IT - LEAVE ME ALONE."

"Garak, I will NEVER leave you alone - never." Bashir stared back at him, defiant.

"Ah yes, I forgot - Doctor Bashir, the martyr. Well then, my dear doctor, let me show you what a Cardassian would do to someone who forced him to go through what you did; let me show you, my brave and unimaginably cruel rescuer -" Bashir sensed the change in his tone and looked up at him nervously.

"No, please, Garak, not like that - I can't any more - it hurts too much."

"Of course it hurts, you filthy Maquis-loving whore, it's supposed to hurt, it's supposed to rip your delicate, compassionate body wide open. What did you expect, gentle hugs and kisses from the Maquis? Well, you didn't get them, did you? And you're not getting them from me. Do you think I'm going to close my eyes and bend over for you too?" He had grasped Bashir around the neck and forced him down to the floor, his knees spreading Bashir's legs apart. "Tell me what you want, whore," he breathed into his face, "or I'll kill you."

"I want YOU!" Bashir screamed as Garak began to tear at his clothing. "Oh please God, I just want you - you don't have to kill me for that! I never hurt you, I would never hurt you... I would never do anything to hurt you - I -" But Garak was oblivious to his cries, riding a wave of pain that carried Bashir along with him, seeking the release that would help him forget.

\-----

Bashir awoke with Garak asleep beside him. It was the first time they had been alone in their quarters since the rescue, the first time they had made love in weeks. It was probably still a little too soon, Bashir winced, as the pain began to manifest itself. But Garak needed it, he had been almost overcome with passion and desire. 'And,' Bashir thought, 'it's not as if I needed to be persuaded either.' Still, Garak had never been quite that - forceful - before. It was one thing, to be given a playful slap or two on the bottom. But for Garak to hold him down and smack him repeatedly with his open hand, as if he were an unruly child - well, it had become a little too humiliating for Bashir's taste. He had laughed at first, had playfully begged for mercy and tried to squirm free, but Garak had changed somehow, for a little while, and had become unreachable. Oh, but it had been worth it afterwards, Bashir smiled, remembering. What a catharsis that night had been. He snuggled closer to Garak and buried his face in his neck, in his delicious Cardassian scent. 'I have you now - I'll never let you go, never. I'll never let anyone hurt you again.'

\-----


	7. Chapter 7

Bashir gripped the counter and let the wave of dizziness wash over him. Thank God the nurse had gone out for a few moments - he could never have successfully hidden his spell of lightheadedness from her. The slow trickle of moisture between his legs told him it was probably time to change into another uniform, too, before she returned. Garak had been more insistently passionate than usual; then again, when had he NOT been overly "insistent" lately? At least this time, Bashir hadn't been totally passive; the dark bruise on one of Garak's eye ridges was proof of that, as was the gash on his shoulder... neither of which gave the doctor any particular satisfaction to recall. He sighed - the nurse was already back.

So was another visitor. "Doctor Bashir?" Security Chief Odo stood in the doorway. Bashir composed his face into a neutral smile and approached him. "Yes? What can I do for you, Odo?"

"I'll have to ask you to come with me, doctor. Captain Sisko wishes to see you in his office." 

He panicked, then steeled himself not to react or show any fear - "See me? Now? For what reason?"

"I'll let him explain that to you. If you please, doctor -" Odo held out his arm and beckoned toward the door; Bashir glanced at him and then walked out into the corridor, Odo following. Some meters behind, Bashir was startled to see a security guard also following. His heart sped up.

"May I ask, Odo, why Captain Sisko sent you all the way down to the infirmary to fetch me?"

"I offered to go, doctor. It appears that your friend Garak is in a slight bit of trouble today." At this, Bashir almost collapsed in shock; his heart pounded in earnest then and he stared speechless at Odo, his eyes wide. No, it couldn't be, there was no way they could already have discovered what had happened in that practically deserted cemetery, there was no way it could be linked to Garak - but maybe Garak had done something ELSE on the station since then -

Sisko was sitting behind his desk when Bashir entered; Garak stood in front of it, to the side, staring at the wall, his expression ominously unreadable. Kira, Dax, and two other members of Odo's security staff were silently arranged about the room, watching him. 

"Ah - Doctor Bashir," Sisko greeted him. "Please, have a seat."

"No thank you, sir."

"Doctor," he began, rising and moving around the desk toward him, "we have reason to believe that you and Mr. Garak paid a visit to Bajor four days ago, without informing anyone at this station."

"Bajor?"

"Yes - you were seen on a transport, returning from Bajor."

"Seen? Are you sure it was us? I never informed you because I never left the station. Is there a record of us being on that shuttle?"

"No - but some of the shuttles are rather lax about checking travel documents, doctor. But yes, you two were seen."

Odo cleared his throat. "With all due respect, doctor, the two of you were rather difficult to miss." Bashir felt his face redden.

"The point is," Sisko continued, casting an irritated glance at Odo, "I need to know what you were doing on Bajor. Mr. Garak is under suspicion of committing a rather serious crime there, and I need to know if you can account for his actions during that time."

"Of - of course." Bashir swallowed nervously.

"So you're admitting now that you WERE on Bajor?" Bashir looked flustered. 

"No - I mean, yes, I suppose it's possible that I forgot we -"

"Doctor, please." Sisko stopped him; Dax's face held an expression of concern as she watched Bashir fidget nervously. "Why did you go there?"

"For a vacation - well, a very short vacation, really - to get away from the station for a little while, to be - to be alone together and away from all of you. Sir."

"And what did you do while you were there?"

Bashir gulped. "We... we made love, sir."

"The whole time?"

"Yes, sir, the whole time. Continuously, every minute. Now are you all satisfied?" His eyes circled the room; everyone was watching him except for Garak, who still stared, expressionless, at the far wall.

"Doctor Bashir," Sisko began again, "I don't believe you. I believe Mr. Garak was alone on Bajor for several hours, during which time he managed to desecrate the graves of three of the Maquis terrorists who held you prisoner."

"No - no, he didn't, sir," Bashir whispered, terrified. "He didn't! He was with me the whole time, every minute. You say we were seen on the transport," he pleaded, turning to Odo. "Did we act as if we had just finished doing something like that?"

"We didn't say YOU did," Odo reminded him. "We're accusing Mr. Garak - for all we know, you may have been completely unaware of the reason for his visit there. However, an employee of the cemetery does believe she spoke to you about the location of the grave site -"

"All right, we did visit the graves, I admit out of simple, morbid curiosity, but Garak did NOT touch them!" His voice began to grow louder. "Those were TERRORISTS, Captain - do you really feel that no one else could possibly have had the motivation to do something like that?" 

"You and Mr. Garak were their first and only victims," Sisko replied evenly. "It stands to reason, after what they did to the two of you, and especially to Garak -"

"You have no IDEA what they did to us," Bashir sneered at him, breathing hard, "none at all - not one of you has any idea of what it was like. How can you stand there and presume to pass judgment on Garak for hurting a CORPSE? How can anything be worse than what he was forced to go through at the hands of those so-called terrorists? They were animals, Captain, they weren't even sentient, they deserve to be thrown out like garbage, they deserve to burn in hell for what they did - no, Garak did not 'desecrate' their graves - I did."

"You?" Sisko looked mildly taken aback. "I was not aware, doctor, that you possessed the strength and the capacity to commit some of the acts that were discovered in that mausoleum by one of the staff." 

Bashir felt a pang of regret for possibly subjecting the poor woman he had met in the office to such a ghoulish scene, but the odds of that seemed low. It was probably some anti-Cardassian Bajoran undertaker - he smirked, and saw Kira and Dax exchange concerned glances. "Isn't that too bad, that savage, brutal terrorists should have their precious resting place disturbed. You should have seen the graves, Captain - 'they died like men,' it said - men, who starve and torture and rape innocent people who had never in their life harmed them. Yes, I'm truly sorry to have caused all of you so much trouble about this. Please excuse me for being upset and describing such terrible things," he finished sarcastically.

Sisko regarded him calmly for a few seconds; Bashir, panting hard with emotion, looked over at Garak, but he had closed his eyes. No one else in the room made a sound. "Odo," Sisko said at last, "take Mr. Garak to a holding cell temporarily until I can arrange for proper treatment for him. I'm afraid Doctor Bashir is covering up for him for some reason -"

"NO!" Bashir hurled himself across the desk, gripping Sisko's arms and screaming, "NO! Oh God, please, NO! I beg you, Captain, don't let them take him - you CAN'T let them take him. Please Captain, please help me -" Sisko struggled to free himself, as two of the security guards rushed over to him. "No, please don't take him," Bashir sobbed. "He'll kill himself - he'll kill ME if you do that to him, he blames me for what happened. He'll kill me because I can't stop you. Please, Captain, don't torture him any more - please take me instead." He pulled himself free of the guards and ran to Odo, collapsing at his feet and throwing his arms around his knees. All this time, Garak remained standing a few meters away, his eyes closed, both hands balled into fists at his side. 

"Please, Odo, don't touch him. I'll do anything you say - I will take all the blame for this from the Bajorans - I took him there, I kept him near me to protect him - please take me instead." Odo regarded him with amazement, and awkwardly leaned down to try to loosen Bashir's grasp; he gripped his knees more tightly and began to scream, "I told you, I won't fight you if you take me instead! What more do you WANT from me? I'll agree to everything you say, but please don't touch Garak, I'll kill you if you touch him, I'll kill every one of you if I have to -"

Dax crouched down next to him; with a roar, he swung out at her and she fell onto her back. "Stay away from me! Don't you understand, I have to take this punishment for him - he did it for me. I'm sorry if this offends you, but they want to sacrifice another Cardassian to the Maquis and we all know it. But I'm not letting them do it this time, I'll kill them all first -"

\-----

"I understand you've been here quite a while."

"Ah! You know of me, then." The Cardassian sitting opposite him in the Replimat smiled beatifically. KNOW of you, Bashir thought - I've been trying to get someone to introduce me to you for days, and here you go appearing right in front of me from out of nowhere. He caught a glimpse of deep, penetrating blue eyes, as he fidgeted nervously with the vase in front of him. Oh God, he was beautiful - Bashir had never even seen a Cardassian until his arrival on Deep Space Nine, and Garak, striding alone down the Promenade, had been enough to take his breath away. "'O brave new world, that has such people in it,'" he had reflected that day, and for many days afterward. He tried to think of something to say as Garak continued to watch him, a gentle smile on his face. 'Don't get excited - you've heard he's a spy, he probably just wants to see if I'll be a good contact for him to make. There's no way that someone like him doesn't have all the friends and admiration he can handle. I'll never be able to get closer to him, I'm sure he'd never allow it. Still, I could look at him all day - I wonder if he can sense that? I doubt it; he's going through this spy business with incredibly practiced ease - he must try it out on everyone new who comes through here.'

Garak had risen and placed his hands on Bashir's shoulders; the touch was like fire, radiating down through his entire body. Don't go, he thought - stay here with me a little longer, I need you to stay, but Garak had already left the room.

\-----

Garak was next to him, on the floor, Bashir sobbing into his shoulder. "I won't let them take you, Garak, I'll save you this time, I won't let them hurt you -"

"Shh," he murmured into his ear, stroking and kissing Bashir's face, oblivious to the stares of the others in the room. "Shh, it's all right, Julian, no one is going to hurt me, it's all right..."

"Can't you see? They're trying to get you alone so they can turn you over to the Maquis. I won't let them do it, I won't let them touch you - I won't let them give you back to them -"

"They're not giving me back to them, they're dead - they can't hurt us any more. No one wants to hurt us any more." Bashir clung to him tenaciously until the dizziness returned and he collapsed, limp, against him. He felt himself being lifted up into Garak's strong arms, and he snuggled against his chest, his hands around his neck, safe and protected. Captain Sisko was speaking; so was Odo, but Bashir didn't listen to them, he had managed to keep Garak with him and that was enough.

\-----

The river was frozen into icy patches, reflecting the deep blue of the sky overhead. A light dusting of snow traced delicate patterns across the ground. Julian Bashir clasped his friend, Elim Garak, tightly against his side as the wind whistled down the path behind them. They stood together at the entrance to the mausoleum; a solid metal door now blocked any view of the room within, but Bashir's memory supplied the missing details. He and Garak were not alone. Jadzia Dax and two Starfleet security guards waited a short distance away, watching the pair but not standing close enough to hear them.

"I don't really want to be here, Elim," Bashir said, leaning against him.

"As I recall, this trip was entirely your idea. I'm surprised we were even allowed to consider it. I was content to stay on Betazed, where it's WARM -"

Bashir smiled. "Well, it's just that I realized how important it was for us to see this place again, to acknowledge the fact that it's over... My God, Garak, we really were out of control that night, weren't we? How could we have done that?" Garak didn't answer; Bashir continued, "Well, it doesn't matter, we don't need to keep thinking about it and fighting them. But - it's difficult to forget, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Garak looked down; Bashir saw him swallow nervously and felt him shiver. He drew him even more closely against his side.

"Well, it's over. It's all over. Only three months ago, but it seems like a lifetime, doesn't it?" Garak nodded. "We'll go back to Betazed, to warm up again," he smiled, causing Garak to smile too, "and then - I don't know. I'm not sure what's going to happen to us. I only know I'm staying with you. I could never have faced any of it without you."

"Maybe it would have been best for you if -"

"I know what's best for me. You are."

"Julian - I'm sorry. You know that, don't you?"

"I've always known that, Elim." He watched him silently for a moment. "It's all right now - I used to think it never would be again, but it is. It's all right. We're here, together -" He couldn't continue at first, as a tear threatened to spill out from behind his eyelid; he reached a hand up and brushed it away. Garak looked worriedly over at him, and he smiled bravely in response.

"So - will you finally let me say those verses I had planned to say?"

"Yes, of course," Garak answered, relieved.

Bashir was silent a moment, remembering, then faced Garak as he recited, "'Should you draw a sword against a friend, despair not, it can be undone. Should you speak sharply to a friend, fear not, you can be reconciled. A true friend will fight with you against the foe, against your enemies he will be your shield-bearer." He paused. "You were that for me, Elim."

"As YOU were, Julian. As you are." They continued to face each other, their surroundings forgotten.

\-----

"'Brotherhood! No word said can make you brothers!  
Brotherhood only the brave earn and by danger or  
Harm or by bearing hurt and by no other.'"


End file.
